


A Series of Possibly Fortunate Events

by bluejazzberrys



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anger, Bets, Blindfolds, Bottom Dan Howell, Cock Rings, Cock Slut, Come Sharing, Confused Phil Lester, Daddy Kink, Dan Howell Is A Little Shit, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom Phil Lester, Drunk Dan Howell, Drunk Phil, Drunken Shenanigans, Drunkenness, Edging, Everyone's Drunk, Exhibitionism, Finger Sucking, Finger play, Flirty Dan Howell, Frottage, Handcuffs, Lapdance, Light BDSM, M/M, Man Pain, Massage, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Overstimulation, PWP, Pain Kink, Parties, Popsicles, Restraints, Sexual Tension, Temperature Play, Top Phil Lester, Torture, Truth or Dare, Vibrators, Wet Dream, cock slut dan, cockwhore Dan, dan is a tease, embarrassed Phil Lester, flustered Phil Lester, horny Dan Howell, masochist dan, overstim Dan Howell, police Phil Lester, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-04-07 13:33:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejazzberrys/pseuds/bluejazzberrys
Summary: It all started with a small mistake. Ok fine, not really a mistake. Dan was just too tempting for his own good sometimes. Who could blame Phil?OrDan is a little shit and he knows it... and Phil's too much of a saint to do anything about it.





	1. The Incident

It all starts with a small mistake. Ok fine, not really a mistake. Dan is just too tempting for his own good sometimes. Who can blame Phil?

“It’s too hot in here,” Dan complains petulantly, pulling at his sleeves. Dan is really just a five year old child, Phil muses. But he’s far from innocent. Phil can see Dan’s real intentions — a subtle intensity burning in the depths of his almond eyes; Dan has always been a flirty drunk, after all.

The problem is that Phil actually likes Dan in a more-than-friend way, but he can never act on his own desires and ruin their friendship. No, he would rather stay friends with Dan forever than risk taking a stab at love. Phil is happy with their relationship right now. He does not need to overcomplicate things just because of his own selfish, bizarre feelings. 

So when Dan is sitting less than three feet away from him, blushing and giggling, with his golden collarbones illuminated by the bedside lamp, and his ochre eyes sparkling, and his cherry-red lips begging to be kissed _ , _ Phil knows he’s screwed.

“Philll,” Dan drawls, interrupting Phil’s inner panic, “didja hear me?” 

“Huh,” is Phil’s eloquent response. 

Dan giggles slightly, a soft tinkling sound, dimples popping up on his luminous face, “I said that it was hot…”

“Uh huh.”

“Wanna do something about it?” Dan goads, biting his bottom lip and looking up at Phil under his long lashes. Phil swallows. 

Why is Dan even in here? After PJ’s party ended, they would usually go to their respective rooms and sleep — or in some cases, fantasize — in their respective beds. But for some reason, Dan had followed him — clinged to him, rather — all the way to Phil’s bedroom. And now they’re both sitting on his bed, sprawled upon his famous green and blue quilted duvet.

“Uhm. Dan,” Phil starts, flicking his eyes up to meet Dan’s. But he can’t finish his sentence as he gets lost in the round pools of chocolate, and the air halts in his lungs, trapped. Dan’s eyes are hooded, roaming up and down the length of Phil’s body. Phil closes his eyes, willing his body to calm down. But his brain decides it would be a good idea to conjure up Dan’s blushing face and nearly obsidian orbs, and the image flashes behind his closed lids. He reopens his glazed eyes quickly, and Dan seems closer to him. Had he moved closer? Or did Dan move closer? Probably the latter, he tells himself. Dan is biting his lip now and Phil is affronted by tightness that rushes through his chest, clamping over his heart —a feeling  he later recognizes as jealousy. He wants to be the one to bite those rosy lips. He can do it. It would be so easy to swoop down and steal Dan’s breath away, similar to the way Dan is stealing his right now. It would only be fair, he reasons. He unconsciously shifts closer on the mattress. Dan is even closer now, and Phil can see the small beauty marks dotting along his cheekbones and the small patch of red glowing on his cheek. Dan’s breath mingles with his as he feels the brush of his warm hand against his own. A small jolt of electricity runs through his spine at the contact and he barely catches Dan’s gasp. The air around them is heavy and suffocating, charged with an incomprehensible energy.

“Phil,” he feels Dan whimper, and his warm, alcohol-infused breath wafts over Phil’s face. Then Dan moves and places his hand on Phil’s shoulder. Phil’s heart is thrumming under Dan’s hand and he is sure that Dan can feel it. Dan leans forward, lips grazing against Phil’s high cheekbones. Phil’s breath hitches. Dan places both hands over Phil’s shoulders and growls, “Take m’ clothes off,” words tickling Phil’s sensitive ears. But before Phil can respond, Dan is kissing the area under his ear in wet, open-mouthed kisses. 

Hot flames burn in Phil’s chest, and he takes a shaky, shuddering breath. He grips Dan’s arms — to push him away or pull him closer? 

“Dan…” Phil tries to warn, but moans instead. Dan continues to bite softly into Phil’s skin, sucking, “Dan, I… ” Phil pants, gripping firmly onto Dan’s shoulders, “I don’t think it’s a — ”  Why is he resisting, again? He can’t. It isn’t right. Dan isn’t in the right mind. He doesn’t know what he’s saying or doing. Dan can wake up in the morning and claim that it was just the alcohol talking. Phil can’t; he’s almost sober. He half-wishes that he could be intoxicated too, so that he doesn’t have to go through this torture. Why did he think that avoiding alcohol would be a good idea?! Now he has to be the responsible one and deal with the consequences: a drunk Daniel. He gasps as Dan catches a particularly sensitive area, “Dan, I don’t think it’s a good idea to mmph — ” and then Dan’s mouth is on him, kissing desperately and licking into the crevice of Phil’s mouth. His lips are firm and demanding, slightly chapped, but inexplicably soft. He tastes like a mix of alcohol and fruit punch and something indescribably  _ Dan _ . Phil nicks at his lower lip, and Dan breathes out his name, causing Phil to shiver as heat courses through his blood. But Dan’s breathy calling also slaps Phil out of his trance. No, he has to stop! This isn’t right. It can ruin everything!

Phil claws against Dan’s body, frustratedly trying to shove him off. Dan probably gets the wrong idea though, since he moans softly and straddles Phil. It isn’t fair. Dan’s hands are everywhere: roaming furiously over his chest, to scratching his back, to pulling his hair. Phil groans at a particularly hard tug, white pleasure flickering under his closed lids. 

Fuck it. 

Phil grazes his tongue along Dan’s lower lip and sucks it into his own mouth, drawing a loud groan from Dan. He slants his mouth over Dan’s, kissing with newfound fervor, burying his hands into Dan’s brown curls and pulling harder. Phil swears he can hear Dan’s wail echo off the walls as Dan grinds into Phil, gasping, “Fuck. Clothes. Now.”

Clothes fly off in a flurry. There’s an unreasonable rush for something. They’re now only in their boxers, both of which are tented considerably. The moment their clothes are off, Dan’s hands are splaying over Phil’s broad chest and Phil is gripping onto his hips, finally indulging in the sweet, torturous contact. Phil starts to press his lips against Dan’s throat, eliciting gasps and mewls from him, “N-neck… s- _ nh _ … sensitive,” Dan huffs, despite tilting his head back to allow for more room. Phil chuckles, the sound muffled by Dan’s neck, and proceeds to nibble at the smooth expanse of golden skin. He licks along the column of his throat and pulls at the sensitive flesh, creating a suction that causes darkened marks to bloom over the damaged area. As Phil continues to burn a trail of wet, heated kisses along Dan’s throat, Dan buries his hands in Phil’s hair, and he throws his head back, moaning profanities and grinding on Phil with unbridled lust, prompting groans to erupt from both parties. Phil leans back to admire his work, breath coming out in warm puffs, cooling against Dan’s slick neck. Dan shivers at the feeling. A large purple bruise is beginning to form at the juncture between Dan’s neck and shoulder, leaving Dan breathless and flushed, and his dark curls are sticking to his temples. The swelling hickey is going to last a long time, maybe a week at the most.

And then Phil is painfully thrown back into reality and out of his trance, like a bucket of cold water has just been doused over him. He just gave Dan a hickey! And one that could last permanently !  Okay, maybe not permanently, but still, a hickey nonetheless. Oh what would Dan say to him tomorrow? What would they tell the viewers? What is he going to do?! He can’t bring himself to stare in horror, however, as Dan’s hooded gaze is pinned on him once again, his flushed chest rising up and down, and a layer of perspiration is visible on the shiny, golden skin. His breath hitches as Dan’s fingers slowly start to burn a trail down Phil’s pale skin, lowering to the waistband of his boxers, “Phil,” he whispers, voice too tender for Phil’s stuttering heart, and then Dan is on him again, lips slower this time, moving almost lazily along Phil’s mouth, but not quite; it’s nothing short of the whole-hearted passion he can feel, especially since the room is spinning and electricity fizzles in his belly as a wave of heat shudders through him. He grips Dan’s waist bruisingly hard, and Dan whimpers Phil’s name and grinds against him once more. Phil gasps and he swears he sees stars flash behind his eyelids. He needs to stop this. Now. He never meant for it to get this far. Hell, he never wanted it to even start in the first place. 

Phil growls against Dan’s mouth, straddling Dan and pinning his hands over his head, “Stop.” He’s breathing hard, jagged breath blowing over Dan’s face, brown curls fluttering ever so slightly. Dan gasps audibly, a thrill going through him from the new position and the authoritative tone. He’s lying flat on his back now, squirming and huffing. His shiny red lips are swollen, mouth open and chest heaving. A sly pink tongue darts out, languidly licking his luscious lips, and his brown eyes shimmer teasingly. Phil holds back a groan. Having Dan in this position isn’t really the best idea, but what other choice does he have, goddamnit?! “Dan, we shouldn’t be doing this,” Phil stutters out.

Dan frowns, confusion merging within the flecks of lust burning in his nearly obsidian orbs, “Whuh?” He tries to free his arms, “Why?” Phil tightens his grip, panicking. If Dan jumps on him again, he may lose it completely. He’s already tempting enough. 

“Exactly, so why do you want to stop, Phil?” Dan asks smugly, doe eyes boring into Phil’s cerulean ones. Phil belatedly realizes he must’ve been voicing his thoughts out loud in his delirious panic.

He feels heat rush to his cheeks, “Dan, you need to stop right now. I can’t really explain why.” Phil huffs and looks up. He can’t stand to witness Dan’s betrayed pout. In his daze, Phil spots a spare tie resting innocently on the corner of his bed. It probably came off when they were hurriedly removing their clothes. Is he going to have to tie Dan up?

“Tie me up?” Dan’s voice perks, “Hmm kinky, Phil,” he purrs, and Phil realizes he must’ve been talking aloud again. He wants to facepalm, but he’s using both hands to hold Dan down. And then Dan squirms some more, trying to get out of Phil’s vice grip. “Phil, just let me go!” Dan whines, his voice causing a jolt a desire to rocket through Phil. And all his squirming causes delicious friction and Phil can feel Dan’s length brushing against his own and  _ fuck it.  _ Phil leans forward, smashing his lips on Dan’s almost painfully, but carefully keeps his hands pinned in place. Dan gasps and shivers, moaning loudly and unashamedly, continuing to grind on Phil. His tongue delves into the wet cavern of Phil’s mouth, velvet and searing, fleetingly burning all of Phil’s logic away and prompting a groan to rumble from him. Then, in one swift motion, Phil grabs the tie and tackles Dan to the bed again in jerky, desperate movements. 

“No! No no noo Phil!” Dan groans, voice hoarse, but it was too late. He’s tied with his hands above his head to the corner-post of the bed, hips thrusting for some kind — any kind — of contact. “Phil,” Dan pleads, sucking on his lower lip and arching back, “please…” 

Phil gapes at him heatedly. He can feel his length burning at Dan’s unabashed display, wanton and unyielding. Dan’s bound to his bed, hard and wanting and pleading for Phil to take him. He’s completely at his mercy. So Phil can't help himself as he tries to relieve his own aching length. He hisses when his hand brushes against it, a spark of pleasure rushing through him. How did he think this was a good idea?! He removes his hand as if he has been burned. He really can't afford to look at Dan right now, or he would probably pounce on him and ruin him. His length twitches at the idea. He resorts to burying his head in his hands, instead, “I'm sorry, Dan. You won't feel like this in the morning,” he mumbles. He’s so lost in his own fantasies that he doesn’t even realize Dan’s own dishevelled state. 

Dan is the epitome of a hot mess, throwing his head back and forth and whimpering obscenities, “Phillll,” he whines, “please, please, please,” he chants, pulling at his restraints. His black boxers contrast with his gloriously tanned skin, the lamp light casting shadows over the sharp planes of his collarbones and catching his flushed, heaving skin in the most tantalizing way. His boxers are very clearly tented and every fiber of Phil’s high-strung, tense body tells him to relieve him, to take him, to fuck him senseless into the mattress until he’s a wrecked mess, begging and pleading for him. Phil feels himself pulse against his stomach. He’s screwed. The irony, he muses, despite his very literally pressing dilemma. 

Among his musings, however, he hears Dan say something completely uncalled for. Dan’s almost sobbing now with want, grinding his ass backwards into the mattress, venturing for as much contact he can possibly get. With every thrust and grind back into the bed, his length bounces slightly, rubbing against his boxers. He arches back, pulling at his restraints, and practically sobs, “uhnng please, daddy. I'll be a good it for you… I need you, daddy please… anything… please fuck me dad —”

Phil clamps his hand over Dan’s mouth, his length thrumming distractingly. Dan is going to be the end of him. He snorts internally despite this,  _ of course  _ he has a daddy kink. He needs to get out and now. Even though every cell in his buzzing body screams at him to do everything Dan is oh-so-sweetly begging him to do, he simply can't. It’s too painful for him.

“Dan,  _ please  _ stop talking,” Phil rasps, voice pained. Dan’s eyes widen like a deer caught in headlights, before darkening, and Phil feels a smirk against the palm of his hand, an upwards quirk of Dan’s bruised lips. Phil’s breath hitches.  _ Now what _ — and then he feels it. A hot, wet sensation on the soft flesh of his hand and Dan is sucking on his fingers, pulling them into his heated mouth. Sparks fly through him, and an anguished groan erupts from him. Dan’s tongue circles around his index and middle finger, and then he sucks on them, and Phil’s blood is singing, nerves vibrating with euphoria. A groan tumbles deep inside Phil, and he feels a pull of arousal every time Dan sucks, like he’s sucking on the most delicious candy anyone can give him. Dan leans forward as much as he can, the taut muscles of his arms straining against the bedpost, and his fingers curl. And then Dan groans roughly, and Phil can feel every vibration around his hand, and his stomach swoops and he can feel a fresh wave of hot arousal wash over him. Before anything further can happen, though, Phil retrieves his hand like he has been burned, wrenching the wet extremities to his naked torso, breathing hefty gulps of air. The room fills with the sound of heavy breathing, and Dan still looks at him with those doe eyes, looking at him like he was staring at piece of candy, deep mahogany pools raking up and down Phil’s body unabashedly. His hands are still tied above him and his flushed chest rises and falls with each baited breath. Phil can see the countless beauty spots on his golden flesh. Brown dots are speckled over his shoulders and the top of his chest, “Phil…” Dan whimpers, shifting restlessly on the bed, and snapping Phil out of his reverie. He needs to leave. 

Phil practically leaps out of the bed, shuddering, trying to keep some distance between them. Dan looks up at him under his lashes, and Phil gasps as he sees his tongue peeking out to lick his shiny lips salaciously. Then his head falls back and his eyes flutter closed, “Mmn you taste so good, daddy,” he breathes. Phil feels a heated gasp rush out of him once more at Dan’s unashamed flamboyance, and then he turns swiftly on his heel, stalking out of the bedroom, length thrumming erratically. 

He doesn’t pay attention to his whereabouts; he needs to escape that room before he does something terrifyingly stupid. Suddenly, another idea pops into his lust-ridden mind: gagging Dan. Then he doesn't have to go through the torture of listening to his delectable moans or risk getting trapped in the hot cavern of his mouth. He almost trips over himself as he briefly remembers the feeling of Dan’s wet, hot muscle working over his fingers, a tingle going down his spine —fuck.

He needs to gag Dan, but with what? They don't have a proper ball-gag; they aren't some crazy, kinky sex animals. He belatedly realizes that he’s standing in the kitchen. He opens the fridge: some beer, no; left overs from their last outing, no; a gallon of half finished milk, no; eggs, no; butter? The unwelcome image of a needy Dan flashes in his mind, a stick of butter crammed into his mouth. Phil cringes, frustrated. No. Butter doesn't taste particularly pleasant either. He opens the freezer: ice cream, no; frozen vegetables, no; popsicles — the visual of a panting Dan gagged with a popsicle shoved in his mouth, juice dripping down the long column of his throat, bombards into his mind and it’s all he needs to be painfully hard again. He grabs the first one he sees from the box. It’s lemon-flavored, almost white in color. This will do, Phil nods and ambles back to the bedroom. 

He opens the door with a mixture of trepidation and lust, not sure of what to expect. Dan could be sleeping for all he knew. 

***

Dan is not sleeping. 

He’s still propped up on the bed, biceps straining from his restraints. At Phil's entrance, he starts to bite his lip, darkened eyes fogging with desire, tinged golden from the dim light of the bedside lamp. His curly hair is matted with sweat and he’s still breathing heavily; he’s still hard and waiting and  _ wanting _ . 

“Hurts,” Dan whimpers, jerking his hips up to meet something, and Phil’s breath hitches as he notices an unmistakable dark patch on them, slightly darker than the rest of his boxers, “ _ please _ ,” he groans, aggravated, as he scrunches his eyes up and rests his head against the corner-post, offering his neck to Phil. He catches sight of the rosy bruise that’s still there at the base of his neck and Phil shudders, heat zipping through him. This is worse than he expected. 

Does he not understand the torture he puts Phil through?! He needs to be silenced  _ now  _ before Phil acts on his capricious impulses. He tears off the plastic wrapping, and Dan’s doe eyes flick open. It sounds like the wrapping of a condom, after all.  _ Finally  _ he’s going to take him, Dan thinks with relief, a flood of joy rushing through his blood and he slightly parts his legs. But he’s surprised by what he sees: Phil unwrapping — is that a popsicle? 

Phil looks back at Dan and sees his pink tongue poke out to lick his upper lip slowly, agonizingly. Phil groans at the clear desire on Dan’s face, “You fucking tease,” he snarls, only to be met with a dazzling smile from Dan, hooded eyes sparkling with mischief, “You want this, don't you?” Phil questions, sighing.  _ Of course  _ Dan wants this‍, how could he not see this coming. He mentally facepalms. 

Dan nods eagerly, “Please, I'll be a good boy for you,” his eyes zero in on the cold popsicle, and he grinds back on the bed aggressively, “It hurts dad — ” 

Phil growls, shoving the popsicle in Dan’s open mouth. Dan moans obscenely, cherry lips encasing around it readily, contrasting with the white color of the cold treat. His eyes roll backwards and he hums at the burst of sugary, sour flavor.  _ Shit.  _ Why does his ideas keep backfiring on him? Phil reluctantly pulls the treat out of his mouth, hesitant, but Dan leans forward — as much as he possibly can, considering he’s tied to the damned bed — and laps up the juices from the sides, swirling his tongue over the top. 

_ “ _ Goddamnit, Dan,” Phil rumbles, voice broken and pained, as gooseflesh breaks out all over his body. What does Dan do to him? He’s jealous of a fucking popsicle. He reaches for his crying length, unconsciously dropping the popsicle onto Dan’s flushed chest. He can’t handle it anymore. He needs to relieve himself. Phil shivers despite the knots of heat rushing through him. It’s too hot in the room.

He fists his length while Dan’s surprised squeal — _ Ahn! _ — echoes around the room from the cold sensation of the frozen treat. Phil’s length pulses as he imagines the sound in a different context. Dan’s eyes squeeze closed as he licks his wet, popsicle-spittled lips. Phil has never wanted to kiss him more in that moment. To taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. He resorts to biting down on his own lip instead, wishing it was Dan’s, and groans lowly in his chest. The popsicle is rested on the base of Dan’s collarbone, slightly covering the hickey, but slowly melts, sliding downwards with every rise and fall of Dan’s chest. The cold treat slides past Dan’s collarbone, coming in contact with his chest, dripping over him. Phil watches, fascinated, as Dan’s dusky pectorals harden from the freezing temperature. Dan whines loudly, a high pitched noise echoing over the room. He pulls at his restraints to no avail, and a choked, tormented sound escapes his mouth as the cold treat continues to slide down sluggishly.

The cold sensation is slightly uncomfortable at first, but becomes incredibly erotic, especially since Phil looks at him like a predator waiting to eat his prey. And Dan certainly doesn't mind being the prey. A thrill goes through him at his thoughts, electric and heated down his spine, and he shudders. When he had told Phil it was hot, he wasn’t expecting this particular solution. He lets out a fractured breath as he feels the white treat slide lower, muscles contracting, and a trickle of juice spills into the small indent that is his belly-button, causing him to arch back once more, hips bucking uncontrollably.

Phil feels a deep groan rumble from his stomach and a sharp pleasure rips through him as he continues to pump himself, watching the display with rapt attention. He wonders how it would feel to lean down and lick the white residue. What would it taste like, against Dan’s skin? Phil groans, already regretting his treacherous thoughts. 

The white strip of melted juice continues its journey, and contrasts with Dan’s flushed, heaving skin. It’s almost touching the waistband of Dan’s boxers now. He hears Dan’s breath hitch, getting progressively heavier as the cold juice torturously travels lower. Dan arches back on the bed, “Hnng…” he pulls at his restraints again, thrashing his head back, “It’s cold, daddy,” he whines, voice pitching higher from the cold sensation. 

Fuck. 

He needs to seriously get out of here. Now.  _ Now.  _

Phil springs off of the bed and speed-walks to the bathroom, length pulsing furiously with every step. He blocks out Dan’s desperate whines,  _ Daddy, come back! _ and,  _ Please, I’ll be good… I need you daddy. _ He feels his chest constricting, tightening over his spluttering heart; he left Dan out there, unattended to. He kind of blue-balled him, but he reminds himself that he did it for the better. He needed to get out of there before he did something he regretted. 

***

He slams the bathroom door open and closes it with a loud  _ bang _ , panting at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes are bright blue, almost ethereal, and his pupils are blown so wide he can only see a small strip of the color. He heaves a sexually frustrated sigh and musses up his already messy hair, burying his head in his hands. He’s still pulses inside his boxers. What is he going to do?! 

Who is he kidding, he knows what to do. He needs a shower desperately. A hot one. He turns the shower on — a familiar shriek filling the small room, followed by the pitter-patter of water — and rips off his boxers in one swift motion. He doesn't have the patience to wait for warm water. He jumps into the freezing cold water, hissing at the cold, immediately finding purchase to his raging heat. 

He pictures Dan, his illuminated skin, radiant and flushed, his brown eyes, blazing through him, his hot, wet tongue, searing and sinful against his own. Dan is still very vivid in his imagination, dark eyes shimmering with lust, knuckles whitening behind the silken tie. He groans lowly, white buzzing heat unfurling in his stomach and heart beating in his throat. He continues to pump himself, sighing blissfully as the now scalding water cascades down his heated skin, over the muscular expanse of his back, steam fogging up the small room. 

What would have happened if he continued? If he never walked out? First he would lick the sweet treat off of  Dan’s delectable body. He can almost taste the sweet citrus flavor on his tongue, as well as Dan’s own unique flavor, a flavor that Phil yearns to taste. He was so close to tasting it tonight. Dan would be so pliant under him, writhing into him as Phil licked up his body, so wonton. He can still hear his sweet moans, loud and unashamed, and his calling of   _ daddy.  _ Phil growls at the thought, twisting his length harder in his hand, causing stars to erupt into his vision, and he gasps as he steadies himself against the cool tiles of the shower wall.  __

He huffs a deep breath, imagining what it would have been like if they had gone all the way: Dan screaming out his name, pulling at his own hair, hickeys dancing along with his heaving breaths, flushed chest rising and falling, length bouncing rhythmically along with Phil’s thrusts. His face would be red from exertion and he can hear his moans of his name, pitched high and loud, music to his ears, _mmn Phil._ He can feel the tell-tale signs, his stomach tightening and heat building. 

He continues to grip his hand over his length, wishing it was Dan’s large hands instead. Or perhaps his talented mouth, the one that had sucked on Phil’s fingertips earlier that night. He already knew how that hot cavern of a mouth felt around his fingertips; how different could it be when it was fitted around his burning desire, the way it had deviously fitted around the round head of the popsicle? Phil throws his head back, moaning colorfully, hot water battering down on his chest — when did he turn around? — and the visual is too great, to perfect, to impossible to comprehend. 

And with a final tug, Phil sees white, hot pleasure, and a gravelly groan builds low and deep in his chest, and he’s coming hard — the hardest he has in a long time — spilling over his hands, wishing they were Dan’s instead. He comes with Dan’s name on his lips as he places his hand on the wall to regain his balance, breathing heavily. He blinks the stars away, finishes up his showering needs, and exits the shower, wearing only a towel. In his haste to escape, he forgot a change of clothes. He leaves the bathroom, praying to all the stars that Dan would be asleep.  

***

Dan is asleep, bless him. And he’s still breathtakingly gorgeous in the golden light that his lamp provided. Among the small stirrings of lust, he feels a pang in his chest to see that he was still tied up, for it was not the most comfortable of positions. He gingerly plucks the popsicle away from Dan’s hip, and distractedly throws it in a dustbin. Then he moves to carefully untied Dan, the tie silky against his fingers, and slides Dan’s arms down to a more comfortable position. Dan stirs slightly, sighing in his sleep, but doesn't wake up. 

Phil exhales heavily. Dan’s really too tempting for his own good. Phil tentatively moves to cover him in his blue and green comforter, and can't stop himself from brushing away his curly bangs, the gesture tender, holding too many complicated emotions for him to worry about at the moment. Then he gets up to leave — not before noticing something that turns his blood to ice, that freezes the air in his lungs.

It’s his video camera, staring pointedly at his bed, red button blinking mockingly. It was recording. This whole time. Phil never wanted to melt into the floor more at that moment, to dissipate into nothingness. Why did he decide to record his YouTube videos on his bed, of all places?! Of all the places he could’ve chosen. He hesitantly walks over to the video camera, clicking the the red button to stop the recording. He wonders how long it had been on, and why the damned thing hadn’t lost its battery. 

He starts to play back the footage, and he can feel himself blush all the way to the tips of his ears, red as a beetroot, and a tingling sensation flutters through his fingertips. He closes the camera with shaking hands, as well as a satisfying _clack_ before he could get any more aroused, and he trudges over to his laptop and uploads its contents on his computer. It feels right to save the sinful video, and maybe it can come in handy someday. It would certainly be easier to _show_ Dan why he was covered in a sticky popsicle mess rather than trying to explain it verbally. Phil would probably be a stuttering, blushing mess. Maybe having a recording is a blessing in disguise. 

Who is he kidding — he would never have the courage to show Dan the video; he just needs it for his own late-night errands, of course. 

After some hesitation —it was possible for  Dan to find the camera in the morning; but then Phil realizes that Dan wouldn't go snooping in his camera in the first place —Phil  leaves it to upload ,  changes into a set of boxers, and goes to sleep in Dan’s room. Dan’s asleep on Phil’s bed, so it’s only fair for him to sleep on Dan’s. Besides, Dan probably won't mind. 

But he knows it’s a mistake as soon as he pulls the covers over his head. Dan’s scent washes all over him, buries into the essence of the sheets, and he can't go to sleep without his mind conjuring up Dan tied up, wanton and flushed and grinding against his bed. He needs a peaceful rest after everything Dan put him through, goddamnit. 

He immediately leaps out of the bed and sleeps on the couch in the lounge with one of their spare blankets, finally managing to sleep with the image of Dan’s red lips and gold skin and chocolate eyes bleeding into his dreams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cya in hell :D


	2. Aftermath—Baking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is!

Dan wakes up to a blinding light, his head throbbing and limbs aching. It feels like he swallowed a wad of cotton and everything hurts. He groans, reaching up to massage his temples. The small movement elicits a faint pain in his arms, and he tries to recollect the events of what might have happened last night. He opens his eyes, adjusting to the bright light, and blearily recognizes that he’s in Phil’s room. A wave of nausea rolls through his clenching stomach, and he immediately closes his eyes, and scattered colorful dots flood the dark abyss. He braces himself and takes long, slow deep breaths. 

In. Out. In. Out. 

With every breath, he can feel a sticky substance stretching over the expanse of his skin. It’s dried to him. Must’ve dried overnight. Oh god. He tries to push the bubbling panic away, but he needs to know what he did last night.

Or what he didn’t do. 

His stomach lurches. He knows he’s in Phil’s bedroom and he’s also sticky, but with what? Why is he in only his boxers? Are those Phil’s clothes on the edge of the bed? His heart jumps in his throat. Where is Phil? What happened last night? All of these questions are undoubtedly important, but they will have to wait. Dan shifts upright, shielding his eyes from the brilliant rays of the sun, trying to ignore the soreness in his arm. Of all the days to be blindingly sunny. It was always raining in London. Why is it sunny all of a sudden? Is the apocalypse finally here? Dan sighs, looking down at Phil’s blue and green comforter, shaking his head slightly, as if to shake his distracted thoughts away. The small motion only serves to increase the hammering in his head, however, and he winces in pain. He really needs to get water and some advil before he falls into a state of hysteria. 

But before he can get out of bed, Phil’s head pokes around the corner of his bedroom door, morning hair dishevelled endearingly, “You’re awake, then?” he questions tentatively. Why does he sound slightly fearful? Phil seems distracted by something, his crystal eyes — almost gray in the morning light — focusing on Dan’s neck. Dan clutches the comforter, shifting to cover his body, suddenly self-conscious for an inexplicable reason. 

“D-did something happen last night?” Dan blurts, and then restrains himself from smacking himself in the face. Got straight to the point there, Danny. 

Phil’s eyes widen, and he abruptly blossoms a curious shade of pink, “Uh… h-how much do you remember?” he mutters, avoiding Dan’s inquisitive gaze.

“Well, I don’t remember much at all, actually,” Dan admits. He squints, trying to recall any events from last night, “We were at Peej’s party… had a couple of drinks… hmm Tyler sure knocked some strong shots into me,” he says, eyebrows raising as a flash of a bitter red drink appears in his vision. A dimly lit room. Tyler’s unmistakable laughter.

He can almost hear Tyler like he was standing next of him: “I knew it! Pay up, hon’, this twink just won me three hundred dollars!” his delighted shriek echoing around the walls of the pub, blue eyes twinkling. He was bursting with giddiness like he had just won the lottery — which, in a way, he did. Dan groans, burying his pounding head in his hands. Shit, what did he tell Tyler? And now that his eyes are closed, it’s easier for him to picture more events from last night. Aside from the taste of the sugary, headache-inducing cocktails, he remembers the taste of something else. A twinge of lemon-lime flavor creeps into his mouth, a burning blue gaze glimmers in a golden light, and suddenly he feels the sensation of something wet and cold sliding down him. A heated gasp escapes Dan’s lips and his eyes darken. Where did  _ that  _ come from?

Phil swallows. He hopes Dan doesn't remember. Hearing Dan’s sharp intake of breath doesn't help his panic, aside from the small zing of heat that runs through him. Phil, as always, pictures the worst. If Dan remembers, Phil might have to move out — friendship broken, YouTube career shattered. Phil’s heart crumbles, sinking to the floor, at the idea. They had been together for countless years. Regardless of career, he can't imagine a life without Dan. 

“Shit. Phil, what happened last night? What’s on me? Why am I sticky?” Dan’s anxious voice breaks Phil out of his own inner crisis. For a brief moment, Dan wonders if he’s covered in Phil’s come. It’s a sticky whitish color, after all. It’s a bizarre thought, but once it surfaces in his mind, he can't shake it away. How could he forget something so important?! He curses at himself, unaware of Phil shifting nervously beside him. 

Phil stares at his feet, finding comfort in them instead of looking directly into Dan’s eyes. He feels himself speaking, “You’re…ah… a flirty drunk, Dan,” uncontrollable heat rushes to his face, and he prays it’s not noticeable. Now Dan would have even more questions.

Dan squeaks, face turning an embarrassed shade of rose, “I-I… Phil-oh god, what did I do,” he asks, stuttering, but it’s more of a statement, spoken with a hint of trepidation. 

Phil tries not to melt at how adorable Dan is being in his flustered state. He clears his throat, “It’s ok, Dan. You were drunk. You weren’t thinking,” he soothes.

Dan pulls at his hair, trying to stop the everlasting drumming in his head, and groans in frustration, causing Phil to shudder. He thought of Dan doing that in last night’s shower, after all. It was just in a completely different context. “Phil!” Dan exclaims, pulling Phil’s mind out of the gutter, “Stop avoiding the question! What did I do?! Why am I sticky? Why does everything hurt?” The red in Dan’s face becomes darker and darker with every question. Before Phil can respond, however, Dan gasps in horror, “Did… did we… do… all the way?!” He covers his flushed face in mortification, “Oh, for fuckssake!” And then he’s muttering colorful profanities in his hands about the stupidities of alcohol and stupidity of himself, and how can he be so stupid?! 

“Dan!” Phil almost laughs at Dan’s comically worried state, “No, no, don’t worry we didn’t go that far. We just… kissed a little,” Phil snorts internally;  _ kissed a little _ is the understatement of the century, “And you kind of… err… spilled some popsicle on yourself.” Phil coughs, and looks away, pink dusting along prominent cheekbones.

Dan quirks an eyebrow, trying to ignore his palpitating heart at  _ kissed a little _ . Why can't he remember?! He wanted his first kiss with Phil to be memorable, goddamnit. The  _ reasons why Dan’s a fail _ jingle blasts through his mind momentarily. He disregards his errant thoughts, and tries to focus. There’s something off about Phil’s story. Dan finds himself saying, “Popsicles… at like, four AM, Phil? After eating a shit-ton of sugar at Peej’s party, we ate some popsicles?” 

Phil nods vehemently. Dan isn't going to buy this, is he.

“Shirtless?!”

Phil falters, “Well… we were getting ready to go to bed, but you insisted you wanted one. Must’ve been a-a craving or something,” Phil shrugs, trying to remain inconspicuous. Why is he lying, again? Well, technically he isn't lying. Dan  _ had _ been craving something, just not necessarily popsicles. He can still hear Dan’s whining voice, his broken moans echoing inside his head. He closes his eyes and forces them away… Phil doesn’t need Dan to know that he’s close to sporting a semi while trying to insist that nothing, indeed, had happened last night.

“Craving…” Dan murmurs, staring off wistfully, as if trying to remember something. Phil takes a sharp intake of breath, panic fizzling inside his tight chest. Dan can't remember! 

“Yup!” Phil hears himself chirp with false cheer, heart thumping painfully against his rib cage, “Right, I can get you that advil while you go wash up, yeah? I don’t want you vomiting over my bed. And I imagine you’ll feel better once you wash off all that popsicle.” He rambles. He wants to hit himself. He needs to stop talking about the goddamned popsicle. 

Dan looks up at him, brown meeting blue for the first time that morning. He nods distantly and starts to get out of the bed. Phil leaves the room in a haste, feeling a flicker of deja vu. It’s not the first time he leaves the room in a hurry, and it won't be the last.

***

_ 2:00 pm _

Dan had gotten changed and washed up, and had taken his advil. He’s feeling considerably better. But that doesn't stop him from worrying over something that he saw in the bathroom this morning. It was a dark magenta, almost purple bruise, spanning over the soft skin above his collarbone, at the base of his neck. Dan gasped, mind reeling, smoothing a hand over the blemished skin, trying to recall the feeling of Phil’s mouth working over him. He sighed, disappointed, when nothing came to mind. Dan isn't blind. He knows what a hickey is when he sees one. 

He isn't worried about the hickey, however. More importantly, why would Phil lie? Phil said they had only kissed that night. It’s just a hickey, but Phil is making a big deal about it. Unless… maybe it’s  _ more _ . Maybe it means more than just a hickey to Phil. Dan disregards the hopeful, to-good-to-be-true thought as soon as it surfaces in his mind. Phil probably has his own reasons for omitting the truth and Dan is definitely overthinking the situation. Phil is probably ashamed of it, anyway — sober or not. He probably wants to forget it ever happened. Dan sighs, trying to shake his conflicted thoughts away, and continues mindlessly scrolling through tumblr, but he can't process anything. His vibrant screen is just a blur of navy-blue color. 

His thoughts are interrupted by the soft murmur of Phil’s voice through the next room. Who is Phil talking to? He knows Phil isn't making a video; they are planning on filming a baking video later today. Maybe Phil is talking to someone else. Dan finds himself gasping at the sudden feeling curling in his gut — like the dark ink of a squid bleeding into his veins — at the thought, heart plummeting and hands balling into fists. Phil isn't even  _ his _ . He shouldn't be feeling like this. But the green monster has already taken over. Dan frowns at his screen.

Phil’s voice is concerned. Usually Phil would talk to Dan when he’s worried. Who is he talking to? Why can't he know about it? Dan’s heart clamps, stomach surging, and he realizes he’s clutching his laptop with an unnecessary, brutal force. Oops. He releases his grip, and tries to breathe normally. Dan strains to hear Phil’s muffled voice, but can’t hear anything mildy coherent. He rises from his comfortable position with an irritated huff. It’s unbearable for him to sit on the couch and ponder over Phil and their delicate relationship. He tiptoes to the door of Phil's bedroom, restraining himself from stomping, and finally manages to catch snippets of conversation:

“I don't know… Peej… never be the same, now…” there’s a pause, and then Phil's exasperated voice, “How do you know he does?!… not blind.” He hears a questioning tone on the other end of the phone, “Yes, of course I do… I — what do you mean ‘bet’?!” Dan can hear PJ’s obnoxious laughter from where he stands, despite the fact that he isn't even on speaker phone, “Not funny, Peej… well you deserved it anyway… at least Tyler… -lieved in us.” Dan freezes. Is that what Tyler was cheering about? Before he can think any further, however, Phil’s indignant voice interrupts his thoughts, “Not…  fault… I… love with him… hmm… a while… I can’t believe… without… proof… right.”

But Dan isn't listening anymore. Did he mishear, or did Phil just admit that he loves him?! Dan’s heart batters in his chest at the possibility and he can feel the heat rise to his face, and his whole body tingles with excitement. 

But before he can bask in the feeling, he hears Phil muttering, “Yeah, maybe… Ok thanks Peej… yeah I’ll see.” Footsteps thump around in the room.

Dan gasps, and he scrambles back to his spot on the couch — heart thrumming erratically for an entirely different reason — and he tries not to look like he was just pressed against Phil’s door like a love-sick japanese school-girl.  

Phil exits his room, frowning at the floor, thinking of PJ’s words. It can't be true. Dan was only drunk, he can't like Phil like that. Dan is just a flirty type of person, especially when he’s drunk. If Dan liked Phil in a more-than-best-friends way, then he would tell him. 

Oh, how wrong Phil Lester was. 

In his deep thoughts, Phil belatedly realizes that he’s standing in their lounge. Dan is staring concentratedly at his computer, his right knee jiggling absently. He bites his lip in concentration. But of course Phil finds the small action enticing, and a small shiver of heat curls in his gut. Will he ever see Dan in an innocent light now? Surely after being called  _ daddy _ , it was going to be an extremely difficult task for Phil to think of him as innocent, doe-eyed flatmate. But now Phil feels like he uncovered one of Dan’s dark, hidden secrets; a malicious, scandalous piece of information that Dan would only leave for his lover. Phil’s heart throbs, and a longing feeling courses warmly through his chest at the thought of being Dan’s lover.

“Dan?” Phil asks, “Do you want to start that baking video now?”

Dan glances up at him, dark eyes grazing up and down Phil’s body. Shit. Did he imagine that or was he just being overly horny today? Definitely both. 

Dan nods, getting up reluctantly. He stretches, arching his back and groaning. Phil feels his eyes grow to the size of dinner plates as he greedily feasts on a sliver of golden skin, where Dan’s shirt had ridden up slightly. Phil wills himself to calm down. This is Dan. He can't ruin him. He won't bend to his desires. Phil sighs shakily, trying to extinguish the flames burning in his belly. Even though he wants to fuck Dan over their kitchen counter. 

Shit.

Phil pulls his mind together, and forcefully wills himself to think of something,  _ anything _ , else that wasn’t Dan. He thinks of the squirrel sitting outside, his house plants, even his  _ grandmother,  _ for fuck’s sake. And everything is ok. He will be ok.

“Phil?” Dan’s voice. Shit, how long was he in that state? 

Phil smiles, hoping it didn’t seem too wobbly, “Let’s start filming, then.”

“Right…” Did Dan just imagined it, or was Phil checking him out? He wouldn’t be surprised, though, since Phil kind of just admitted that he was in love with him. Dan ducks his head, hiding a smile to himself. So why can't Dan say anything? He and Phil could be boyfriends already; why isn't he making a move? What  _ could  _ he say?  _ Hey Phil, I know you love me and I kinda love you too. Actually I’ve pretty much loved you ever since I stalked you and uh… I’ve stalked you since forever like y’know Phil trash number one and all that shit and uh yeah wow I’m rambling ahah… Ah… heh… um… so can you fuck me already?  _

Oh god, it would be a disaster. He would never be able to say it correctly. It’s a stupid reason, he knows, but Phil definitely has to make the first move. Although in the back of his mind, he knows he’s a scared shit and still has some completely unreasonable doubts. For example, for all he knows, he could’ve dreamed the whole conversation with Phil and PJ up, in his hung-over state. 

Highly unlikely. But still. He is scared. 

Or Phil could’ve been talking about loving someone else. After all, he didn't hear Phil explicitly say his name; he just said that he loved a  _ him _ . But they know each other’s friends and friend group, and Phil would probably tell Dan if he liked someone. Possibly. 

Highly unlikely. But still. He is scared.  

The tension would be unbearable, but Dan has always been kind of a masochist. And Dan can be a teasing little shit while he’s at it.

***

The baking video is fucking torture. Honestly, is Dan trying to kill him?! Maybe it’s just the effects of his hangover, but Phil doesn't know how to respond to this new development. Should he just go ahead and confess his feelings? PJ told Phil that Dan liked him all this time as well, and that Phil was just too blind to see it. No. It’s too risky. What if Dan is trying to get him to admit the truth? He seems understandably skeptical about the whole ‘craving for popsicle at 4 am’ excuse. Besides, what if he doesn't mean any of it in any kind of way, and Phil is just overthinking everything? What if he only likes Phil as a friend? He can't bear to think of living a life without Dan, boyfriend or not; he can live with him as a friend at the very least.

It starts innocently enough. 

They were planning on making a simple recipe, something short and sweet. But Dan was deviously horrible throughout the whole video, moaning inappropriately at sporadic moments, licking off icing from his fingers, prompting Phil to remember the feeling of his hot mouth licking over his  _ own _ fingers. Phil gasps heatedly, blush travelling down his neck, heart thrumming wildy in his chest, the sweetest burn washing over him. And Dan just looks at him with a knowing glint in his eyes, and Phil has to wonder if he’s dreaming, nearly asking Dan to pinch him before realizing that would sound weird on camera, and Dan would probably think the worst of it, teasing him about a pain kink or something. 

When really, it’s probably Dan that has the pain kink. 

It doesn't help that Dan looks absolutely delectable today, with his sparkling maroon eyes and inviting pink lips. He’s such a fucking open invitation. Phil catches himself staring a few times — a few times too many, in his opinion. He can't help it though. Not after knowing what those warm, firm lips could do. Every few seconds he gets a memory — popping uncontrollably into his head — that throws him off. He gets triggered by something as simple as a tongue licking wet lips, and Phil would remember how those lips licked over a white popsicle, how those lips tasted against his own, rough and burning, and how those lips slid down over his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses behind his ear.

Throughout the whole  video , he finds himself constantly racking his brain for the most unattractive, most disgusting thing in the cosmos, just so he can avoid getting a semi in the middle of a freaking baking video.  

He swears he sees Dan eye-fucking him a few times throughout the video as well —he can practically  _ feel _ the darkened orbs grazing up and down the length of his body— and Phil can't comprehend any of it. Maybe he’s just doing it for the viewer’s enjoyment, but Dan wouldn’t go  _ that _ far for the sake of their viewers, would he? He has to keep reminding himself that the whole thing is getting filmed as well, and it occurs to him that he will have to go through the torture of editing the whole damned thing, to go through Dan’s provocative moans and innuendos all over again.

And he remembers the moment, suspended in time, where he was stirring something absentmindedly on the cooker, unconcious of Dan moving in close behind him. And suddenly he can feel Dan pressed behind him, adding something to the pan over Phil’s rigid shoulder. He can feel a puff of Dan’s breath blow over his right ear, gooseflesh breaking out over his neck. It’s the same ear that Dan whispered  _ take my clothes off _ in, and the memory sparks a hot burn of flames in his belly, and he loses all ability to breathe. And then Dan’s right arm brushes over his own, causing Phil to shudder as subtle as he could; if he allows a full-body shudder, Dan will surely feel it. He swears he almost hears Dan chuckling under his breath, and he wants to turn around fully to see if he was, and then he can grind into him like there’s no tomorrow. Phil shivers at the thought, and wills his feet to stay planted to the floor. He won't ruin this, after everything they’ve gone through. Even if Dan is giggling, it’s probably for video purposes, anyway. Why else would he do it? Dan’s body heat seeps through his clothing and he can feel Dan’s warmth behind him, pressed into him, and really, it’s a miracle that Dan can't see his front at that moment because he is more than a little hard and it would be the most embarrassing thing Phil has ever experienced.

Luckily, he had to stay watching the pan for some time, so Dan doesn't notice anything — or if he does, he doesn't say anything about it — and the video camera can't capture it from the angle either. 

But then Dan surprises him, playfully calling him  _ Dad _ once in the video and Phil’s eyes darken, a soft, subtle growl escaping him. Dan seems oblivious, however, and doesn't utter the word again, thank heavens. But really, Phil is too preoccupied to notice Dan’s own heated gasp as he finally manages to break Phil’s rigid character. His breathy calling causes Phil’s dominant side to break free, and Dan burns to see more of it. 

Phil sighs, it was the closest he had been to snapping. He doesn't want to have to pin Dan against the refrigerator or fuck him over their countertop. He holds back a groan at his thoughts and sighs, yet  _ again _ . 

It was a long baking video. 

***

Dan is surprised at Phil’s amazing — he snorts internally,  _ amazing _ — self-control. They just finished filming the baking video, and he doesn't know what was wrong with him, but  _ damn _ . He couldn’t sense it when he was actually cooking, but now, rewatching the video, he can tell that Phil was almost going to break. Usually, they edited baking videos together, but Phil went to bed early, claiming he had a horrible migraine. Dan has his doubts; Phil seemed perfectly fine today. Besides, he had always been a bad liar. It seems more than likely that he’s just avoiding the torture that is editing their video. Dan almost offers to give him a massage, but he feels like he tormented Phil enough by now, and he can confirm that based on the editing process. He has to cut out mostly all of the suggestive scenes, but some has to be left in order for the video to make sense. Luckily, those scenes are a bit more tame. He promises himself to try to be more subtle in the next video, but he knows he would never actually carry through with that.  

He just hopes Phil would hurry up and confess already. He tried to make it obvious today — pressing up behind him was risky — but he couldn’t resist. The muscles in Phil’s back rippled underneath his tight, black shirt, wide shoulders hovering over the sizzling pan. Phil only wore black so often. Dan couldn’t resist teasing him, and he had almost,  _ almost,  _ grinded into him. Once he was in his personal space, sharing his body heat, he was in pure bliss, and had practically dropped the insignificant ingredients into the pan. He almost groaned at the slight shudder that passed through Phil’s body. He felt everything, his breathing coming out shakily, and a slight giggle escaped him. Goddamn, he couldn’t help himself; it’s  _ ridiculous _ . Can't Phil see Dan’s obvious attraction? The whole situation is ridiculously stupid and it was all because Dan is too much of an idiot to do anything about it. But Phil, the saint, made no move —instead, he stood rigidly in front of the simmering food, and just seemed confused and aroused for the rest of the filming. A sigh escapes Dan, and he squints at the time on his computer screen, which read 2:37AM. He sighs again. Time to wrap up the editing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a little longer than usual, BUT there's a lot of good stuff in it ;)))  
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Domestic Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I finished this chapter earlier than I expected!  
> The title is slightly misleading, but the chapter has both of those words in it, if u know what I mean… ;))  
> So here it is! A whopping 6.3k (why does it sound like I’m selling hamburgers-- ok I’ll stop)  
> Sorry to say that next chapter will take longer, but hey at least u get an earlier update? >.<  
> Anyway, enjoy!

_ 11:00 pm. _

Dan and Phil are casually sprawled over their couch, enjoying an anime. Their empty dinner plates rested to the side, and they are sitting close to each other. Very close. A little  _ too _ close, in Phil’s opinion. He can feel Dan’s warm body buzzing beside him since the beginning of the show. Dan doesn't seem affected by it, as usual, and at one point, he even leaned his head on Phil’s shoulder, soft breaths fluttering across Phil’s elegant collarbone. But Phil shifted and skittered away, claiming he needed to get another pillow. Fortunately —or unfortunately; he’s a conflicted person— for Phil, Dan doesn't rest his head on his shoulder when he comes back.

Phil can't understand why Dan is so determined to be pressed against him. Phil subtly shifts to the right, trying to keep an appropriate distance, but Dan simply shifts even  _ closer _ . And that’s how Phil ends up wedged between the arm of the couch and Dan, who’s now pressed flush beside him. Phil is rigid, muscles taut, throughout the whole show. There’s at least three feet of room on the right of Dan, but he chooses to sit in Phil’s personal space. Phil can't understand. What is Dan planning now? He nervously chews on his popcorn, finding the salted snack tasteless in his dry mouth and it’s hard to focus on the television screen; everything is just a colorful blur. 

Then Dan leans over him, a large hand lightly resting on Phil’s upper thigh, warmth bleeding through the thin cotton fabric of his pajamas. Phil tries to suppress a shiver at the contact and he takes a sharp intake of breath, counting to ten and keeping his eyes glued to the pixelated screen. Dan’s neck ripples in front of his line of vision, and he’s tempted to mark it again, to feel his fluttering pulse beneath his lips. A spike of heat starts to simmer low in his gut, and the base of his spine tingles. His thoughts are betraying him again. He can't be sitting next to Dan with a fucking hard-on. He wills his brain to shut up and tried to focus on the anime, even if he has no clue of the content. He doesn't know how long Dan was leaning over him, but it definitely felt like more than ten seconds. When he settles back down, Phil can breathe again, and he wills his stuttering heart to slow down. He spares a glance at Dan, who is now clutching a glass of ribena, which seemingly just retrieved from their side-table.

“Phil,” Phil is thrown off by the closeness of Dan’s voice, and hums a response, determined to keep his gaze pointed at the screen. “Were you holding your breath, just now?” Dan asked. 

“W-what?” Phil curses at himself for spluttering, “No, w-why would I hold my breath?”

Dan’s eyes twinkle, “That’s exactly my question, Phil,” he drawls.

Phil deadpans, “I wasn’t holding my breath, Dan,” and the answer comes out breathier than he intends. 

Dan looks at him for a moment, doubt and amusement flashing in his sparkling eyes. And then he bursts, peals of laughter interrupting parts of his speech, “Y-you were  _ totally _ holding your breath, you spork.”

Phil’s face blooms red, and he wants to evaporate on the spot and melt into the floor, and the duvet suddenly felt too heavy and hot and suffocating. Instead, he stutters in denial, “N-no, I… I-It doesn’t matter, stop interrupting the show, Dan.” He just needs something to divert the topic. As if he genuinely cares about the show. 

“Whatever you say, Phil,” Dan sing-songs, flecks of mirth swimming within his cocoa eyes, and he redirects his attention back to the screen. Phil sighs, relieved the conversation was over. He would’ve turned into a tomato and spontaneously combust into flames if it had continued. 

A few moments pass, and then Dan interrupts the silence again, “Do you have any idea of what's going on right now?” he tips his glass toward the screen. 

Phil chuckles, shaking his head  _ no _ . At least they’re on the same page there.

“Good, I’m gonna get some more drinks,” he says, draining the last of his ribena. As Dan downs the glass, his adam’s apple bobs up and down in big gulps, and Phil’s eyes can't help but fasten onto the smooth skin. Dan removes the cup from his mouth, and drops of ribena linger on the crevice of his lower lip, rosiness tinged a dark maroon. And then Dan’s pink tongue darts out, licking the red drops off. Phil has a sudden urge to taste the sweetness of it on his tongue, and his heart drums against his rib cage, stomach erupting in butterflies. But before he can do something he regretted, Dan rises from his spot on the couch, and turns towards the kitchen.

Without conscious thought, Phil’s hand springs out and grasps Dan’s wrist, “Wait,” Phil stammers, trying to ignore the zing of electricity that ripples through his arm at the sudden contact, “Dan, I-I don't really think drinking would be the best idea right now, considering — ” 

“Oh, come  _ on _ , Phil… please?” Dan whines, elongating the ‘ea’ sound, effectively making him sound like a child.

_ Beg, _ Phil thinks almost instantly, shoving the dark thought to the back of his head. What is wrong with him? Why is he suddenly so horny these days? He’s always constantly shoving his thoughts to the back of his mind — usually to revisit them at night. He can't help himself, though, “I don't know…” Phil fortunately says instead, hesitating. 

“Oh come on,” Dan repeats, “What's the  _ worst _ that could happen?” He asks eyebrows raised, an odd glint in his inquisitive eyes, “You hiding something from me, Philly?” 

“I wouldn't hide anything from you,” he mutters, staring back at the screen and removing his hand from Dan’s thrumming wrist. Phil isn't ready to uncover the truth of that night. Not just yet. 

He hears Dan sigh, “Then, why do you think it’s such a horrid idea?”

“It’s not  _ horrid, _ it’s just that…”

“Just  _ what _ , Phil?” Dan persists, rolling his eyes.

Phil frowns at his hands and covers his growing blush with his bangs, “Nevermind. I… It’s stupid.”

Dan narrows his eyes, but doesn't push. Then he shrugs, turns on his heel, and plods towards the kitchen. Phil sighs, heart dropping. He never likes lying to Dan, but he knows he needs to tell Dan the truth of that night at some point. He can never bring himself to do it, though. 

When Dan returns empty-handed, Phil’s eyebrows furrow, “Decided not to drink?”

“No… we don’t have anything to drink,” Dan murmurs.

Phil gapes, “What? I thought we did!”

Dan simply shakes his head, sighing, “Well. I couldn’t find any.”

Phil knows Dan is lying; he saw the bottle of vodka this morning when he ate Dan’s cereal, and he knows it’s in its usual spot.  

“I could go get it for you, if you want,” Phil says, sitting up on the couch, duvet falling from his broad shoulders.

Dan stares at the ground, shifting his feet, “I thought you didn’t want me to drink,” he says in a small voice.

“If you want to, you should, Dan,” Phil says gently, rising, “Here, I’ll get it for you.” 

Dan grabs Phil’s arm, fingers latching onto the pale skin of his forearm, “No!” Dan exclaims, wincing at his own unnecessary panic, “It’s fine. There’s no point in it, anyway.”

“What do you mean ‘no point’?” Phil mumbles, trying to keep his voice steady as Dan’s large, warm hand settles on his arm.

Dan huffs, “I mean…” he squints his eyes and stares intensely into space, as if searching for the right words, “It wouldn’t be fun to drink it by myself… I’d rather have a friend to do it with, y’know?”

Phil’s heart warms, expanding in his chest, an uncontrollable grin lighting up his face. Granted, he had just been friend-zoned, technically — but that isn't important, “Yeah, I know what you mean,” Phil murmurs softly, eyes crinkling, blue eyes glittering with fondness. 

Dan’s amber eyes are still staring at him, warm and slightly amused, and his ears turn a soft pink as his thumb presses into the smooth, pale skin of Phil’s forearm. When he begins unconsciously moving it in small circles, it elicits a soft gasp from Phil, azure eyes darkening. There’s an electric energy that fizzles in the stuffy space between them. Phil’s heart knocks inside his chest. When did they get so  _ close _ ?

And then Dan’s low voice is breaking the moment, “D’you wanna watch some Buffy, then?” Dan rumbles. 

“Huh,” Phil croaks out softly, clearly distracted.

Dan giggles, and glides his hand away from Phil’s arm. Phil, suppressing a shiver, immediately misses the warm presence and felt extremely alone, even when his best friend —ahem, hidden love interest—is standing right in front of him. 

Then Phil registers what Dan just asked him. Blushing, Phil clears his throat, and flops under the duvet, “Yeah, Buffy sounds good,” he murmurs, voice muffled behind the soft material. 

Dan wordlessly starts it from an arbitrary season; they already watched the show countless times, and they know some lines by heart. He settles down next to Phil, shifting to get under the duvet as well.

Phil clutches the blanket to his chest, “Get your own duvet, lazy,” despite his words, his eyes glimmer with affection.

“Too far,” Dan grumbles, crawling underneath it, “It’s big enough for the two of us, anyway.”

“Fine,” Phil relents, eyes fluttering closed as Dan manages to heat up the whole blanket. “Why’re you so hot?” Phil muses aloud, immediately blanching at his careless choice of words.

“Why, thank you, Phil,” Dan replies, a cocky grin lighting up his chocolate eyes, revealing his dimples,  “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Phil rolls his eyes, mouth quirking in a slight smile, “You know what I meant,” he mutters, and wills his blood to stop pounding for one goddamn second as he processes what Dan had said about him in return. 

Dan shifts around some more, trying to get in his ideal comfy position, and his calf brushes against Phil’s foot, causing him to yelp breathily, eyes widening, “ _ Jesus _ , Phil! How come you’re not wearing any socks? No wonder you’re so cold, freakin’ ice-cube!”

Phil snorts, ignoring the stirring of heat at the slight contact, “Did you just call me an ice-cube?”

Dan deadpans, “Of course that’s what you focus on.” 

“I don't know, I guess I didn't find a need to put any socks on today, and I'm already inside the duvet,” Phil shrugs. 

Dan huffs, rolling his eyes, “And you call  _ me _ the lazy one.” 

“You’re definitely the lazier one out of the two of us,” Phil shoots back. 

They continue to banter late into the night, Buffy serving mainly as background noise. At around 2:30 am, Phil’s body becomes boneless, and his eyes become heavy, and Dan is warm and steady next to him, and the screen is a blur of images, and the monotonous audio lulls him to sleep, eyes finally shuttering closed. 

***

_ Dan is running, heart pumping hard inside his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins. He had been watching Buffy with Phil, comfortable in the golden safety of their home, and now he’s running, and running, and running away. Why did he think it was a good idea to steal the goddamn meme? Now the meme police are after him, hot behind his feet. He can hear the loud slapping of footsteps on cobble, and his chest constricts, blood freezing in his body. His breaths come out in misty swirls from the chill of the night, and it’s not the first time he regrets his lack of exercise. He turns left, only to be met with a dead end.  _

_“Shit!” He cries, pivoting around, poised to dive out of the corner, but his perpetrator is faster, and a dark mass pounces over him, pinning his arms to the cobblestone street, and the impact knocks the remaining air out of his lungs. His eyes scrunch closed, and he thrashes around, trying to shove the mystery man off, and for some odd reason, the adrenaline in his veins turn into something more heated and electric, “No, no, please, I haven't done anything wrong, I- it wasn't me! It was Felix! /He/_ _did it!” Dan pleads._

_ “Fuck,” mystery man grunts above Dan, and his stomach fizzles at the deep voice, “Stay still you bastar- there,” mystery man exhales. _

_Then something cold is wrapping around Dan’s wrists with a clean_ _/click/._

 _Ice blue eyes flash in Dan’s vision, and he manages to hear a dark, low chuckle._ _/Phil/._ _Only, it isn't the Phil he knows. Aside the very obvious policeman attire, this Phil has a strange glint in his eyes, a glint that weakens Dan’s knees, that causes his breath to stop in his lungs, that sears his intestines. If he wasn't lying flat on the ground, he would have collapsed in a puddle of human goop._

_ “Someone’s been a naughty boy,” the husky voice muses, and a single slim, pale finger drags down the side of Dan’s face, caressing his cheek, the appendage cold against the progressively heating skin. A gasp tears from Dan’s mouth, the flames in his stomach burning the battering butterflies away.  _

_ Then the surroundings are shifting: the rough slate cobblestone, pale silver moonlight, long dark shadows turning into a darker gray, dimly-lit cellar. He’s in a small room, long ash-gray bars stood in front of him, and he recognizes that he’s in a jail cell. Naked.  _

_ His hands are still locked in the metal cuffs, dangling above him, and he struggles to stand on his shaking legs. Then he hears a subtle movement behind him, a light foot step, and something wicked and wet runs along his shoulder, causing sparks to implode through his blood, and a long, drawn-out wail leaves his breathless mouth. As the wet pressure on his shoulder increases, his neck tilts helplessly to the side, allowing Phil to suck a hickey onto the damp skin. And then Phil’s clothed erection is suddenly pressing into him. Dan throws his head back onto Phil’s shoulder, leaning back on him, muttering profanities. Phil’s hands fly to his prominent hip-bones, holding him steady, and he grinds against him, eliciting a loud moan from Dan, furiously grinding back on him, and then Phil’s voice is groaning in his ear, words hot and humid against the shell, “You—” he’s interrupted by his own breathy grunt as Dan grinds back into him, _ “ _ /fuck/ _ **_…_ ** _ little tease _ .”

_ Dan whimpers, “P-please,” as he feels sharp teeth bite into the flesh of his ear, pulling at his single golden earring, the painful tug going straight to his throbbing length, prompting him to groan and pull against his cuffs, veins alighting with electricity while Phil starts to lick the gold band, soothing the reddening skin. _

_ Dan feels the puff of hot air, a derogatory chuckle against his throbbing earlobe, “Oh, no. You should know what happens to boys like you.” _

_ Dan’s breath hitches amidst his heavy breathing, knuckles whitening in anticipation. Then Phil’s hands are moving down lower, purposely slow, torturously burning a trail of fire in its wake, until the delicate fingers finally reach Dan’s desire, hips bucking uncontrollably into the touch, blood rushing in his ears, and white hot pleasure roars behind his scrunched eyes, a fractured groan breaking from his lips. _

_ And then just as quickly as it appeared, Phil’s warmth is gone from behind him, his length isn't pressing into him anymore, and his hands are off of him. Dan would’ve fallen back if it wasn't for the chains that hold him up, and his wrists throb painfully against the cold metal, and Dan cries out from the sudden coldness, already missing the heat of Phil, and his length pulsates angrily from the lack of contact. But now there is a small black elastic band over it, and Dan belatedly realizes that Phil just put a cockring over him. _

_ Then Dan is muttering incoherently, “No. Fuck. No no no please, m’not naughty boy… I’ll be a good boy… please… /please/, daddy.” _

_ His only response is a dark, gravelly laugh and the unmistakable, familiar sound of mechanical whirring.  _

_Dan’s blown eyes blast open, “No, please, anything but that…” he breathes. After a few unbearable seconds, Dan hears Phil’s footsteps behind him again, and he squirms, whimpering, “Please,_ _/anything/_ _but that, daddy,” he tries again._

_ He feels Phil’s heat close behind him, and a small, black, rectangular gadget is thrust into his peripheral vision, “Remember, daddy’s holding the remote,” Phil’s voice is thick and heavy, dripping over his shuddering shoulders like darkened honey. _

_Dan’s breath leaves him shakily, “O-of course, daddy, but_ _/please/_ _reconsider. I promise I won’t do it agai-/nng/!” His speech is interrupted by a resounding thwack, and his whole body swoops, blood rushing, ass burning, red starting to spread across the lightly tanned skin. Dan groans when the second slap came, slightly harder, and he shivers, knuckles whitening, hot electric bolts running up his spine, blood roaring._

 _Phil is saying something, then, and Dan can barely hear it past the ringing in his ears, “...know what happens to them? Bad boys get punished, Dan. And you have been_ _/particularly/ troublesome this past week.” Another slap echoes loudly through the dingy walls in the confined cellar, and Dan whimpers helplessly, head lolling to the side. His reddened ass tingles, small pin-pricks tickling the abused skin, sending jolts straight to his length._

_ Dan whimpers when he feels the next stinging, dual stimulation, and he thrums painfully against his stomach, a trickle of precum leaking out, “I…” his breath hitched when the next one came, and his hips jerk uncontrollabl _ _ y,  _ _ the drop of precum flying to the floor, “m’fuck! S-sorry,” he gasps heatedly when the next one hits, and he mewls, “Mmn... daddy…f-/ah!/-ck please.”  _

_ Phil speaks, “You’re enjoying this,” amazement bleeding into his voice. _

_ Dan’s head falls helplessly in front of him, and he stares at the ground, closes his eyes, and breathes harshly, _ “ _ Fu-yes yes yes please, I’ll be such a good boy for you. I’ll take your punishment so well,” he chants feverishly. _

_Phil ignores him and growls, “You needy bitch, you_ _/like/_ _getting your ass slapped, pitiful, powerless against me. Look at you. I bet you’re swollen cock is leaking against you, like the fucking filthy whore you are.”_

 _Dan whines pathetically, pleasure unfurling in his gut at the foreign names naturally rolling off of Phil’s tongue, and he can only nod mutely, a flush working its way down his neck, and he feels his length pulse, a few more drops of precum trickling out from the burning sensation of Phil’s thrashes, and from his colorful language, “Please, I need it daddy,_ _/please/._ ”

_ “What do you need, baby?”  _

_ “Anything, I-I… need it,” Dan feels a fluttering touch against him _ _ , searing  _ _ against the skin of his back, trailing down his spine torturously. _

_“Need what?” Phil’s hands circle around his torso, moving down, lower, lower, lower across his clenching stomach, and Dan’s breath gets heavier, heavier, heavier, until finally, Phil’s hands_ _/barely/_ _brush against his desire._

_ Dan’s hips jolt into the touch, gasping, “That…you - mmh - you /know/ _ ,”  _ Dan says, looking bashfully to the side, the tips of his ears reddening. _

_ “You’re gonna have to be more precise than that, Daniel,” Phil’s voice lilts teasingly, and he sweeps his thumb over the head.Dan groans hoarsely, throwing his head back to rest against Phil’s shoulder, shaking his head /no/, panting heavily and closing his eyes, eyebrows furrowing. _

_ “No?” Phil’s deep voice questions, tone dangerous and breath hot against Dan’s slick neck, “Are you sure about that?” And then he does it again, brushing his thumb over the head of Dan’s flushed cock. Dan gasps, then moans, his wrecked voice cracking. _

_ This excruciating pattern continues on for a while, until Dan is in a delirious state of want, and finally a choked sob leaves him, _ “Fuck!  _ Just fu-uh-ck me, I need you inside me daddy, pl-/unng/-please. _ ”

_ “There we go. All you had to do was ask, baby,” Phil purrs. Then Dan feels Phil’s fullness behind him once more, and his blood pounds in his ears, and Dan is mewling, hips stuttering shakily, gyrating over Phil’s length. Phil’s lanky arms are around him, left arm pressing into Dan’s chest, pulling a nipple, while the other dives lower, thumb rubbing over the wet slit of Dan’s length. Dan hisses, scrunching his eyes, a breathy moan escaping him, stars erupting behind his closed lids, and he moans again in anguish as the damned cockring prevented him from sweet release. His length twitches, and Dan strains against his restraints, cold metal grounding him back into reality. Then, Phil leaves him again, and Dan is rambling incoherently, flushed chest heaving, “No, no, please, come back… need your cock… inside… come back and fuck me, daddy… please…  fuck me… /please/ _ . _ ” _

_Phil hums, “Later, baby… First, time for your /real/_ _punishment,” voice dipping impossibly lower, velvety dark._

_ Dan whimpers, clenching his battered cheeks, bracing himself, and he gasps as he hears the mechanical whirring come back to life.  _

***

Phil awakes to the steady sound of rain pelting down on the windows, gray light casting soft shadows through the room. He’s wrapped up around Dan, limbs thrown haphazardly over him, and  _ damn _ — if he thought he was in his personal space last night, boy was he wrong. 

He’s pressed flush against him, Phil’s chest against his broad back, his knees resting in the juncture between Dan’s calves and thighs, his feet tangled between Dan’s warm ankles, his arms holding Dan close, hands curled in the loose material of Dan’s shirt, which had ridden up slightly in their sleep, a sliver of golden skin peeking out. How easy it is to dive his hands underneath the thin material, to finally feel Dan’s warm skin underneath his own. 

A lazy buzz already works its way through his system. It’s so unbearably hot inside the suffocating blanket, and his body is sweaty, tight against Dan’s, brown curls sticking against Phil’s temple, chin pressed into Dan’s damp neck, but it was so incredibly comfortable. And then he has to suppress a moan when Dan stirs slightly in his sleep, his ass just barely brushing against Phil, his soft warmth causing Phil to become more than slightly stiff in his pants, tingles turning into electric shock waves, emanating through his sweaty skin. 

Well. If Phil wasn’t awake then, he certainly is now. 

Then a slightly panicked sound leaves Dan’s mouth, muffled against the fabric, “No! No,” squirming against Phil.

Phil gasps, frowning, trying to ignore the warm heat bubbling lazily in his blood. Is Dan having a nightmare? He considers shaking him awake for a moment, but then realizes that he’s hard and heavy in his pants, and it would be terrifyingly embarrassing if Dan sees him like that, pressed up flush behind him. However, then Dan mumbles a breathy, “ _ Please. _ ”

Phil’s eyebrow quirks. Could Dan be having… _ that  _ kind of dream? But he sounded distressed a moment ago. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a loud moan from Dan, and suddenly Dan is grinding desperately against Phil, obscene moans falling from his sinful lips. 

Phil gasps and holds his breath, panicking as his twitching length grows to be rock hard. He crushes his eyes closed, and tries holding back a groan so that Dan won’t wake up —after all, if Phil moans, he would be moaning right in Dan’s ear from their tight positioning . Dan continues to grind on Phil relentlessly, and Phil’s chest moves up and down swiftly, veins electrifying, goose flesh breaking out over his clammy skin, blood roaring in his ears. He tries not to imagine what Dan is dreaming about, and tries not to wonder if Dan is hard himself, and his fingers tingle as his realizes his hands are very close to Dan’s desire. It would be so easy to move them down, to test his theory. And as soon as the thought enters his mind, he can feel his hands mindlessly trailing downwards, brushing over a patch of exposed skin from where his shirt had ridden up. 

Dan arches, no longer grinding, and pressed into the touch, mewling, “ _ Mmm _ , yes…” 

Phil’s stomach surges, and he exhales a heavy, shaky breath against Dan’s ear. Could Dan be dreaming about him? Phil’s blood sings in his ears, heart pounding at the fleeting thought.

Suddenly Dan goes very still  for a moment , softly whimpering and breathing heavily. Then he gasps a word that causes Phil’s blood to boil, that causes lightning bolts to strike in down his spine, and he uncontrollably jerks his hips into Dan’s warmth. It’s such a simple, two-syllable word, that caused him to get thrown over the edge. Dan is groaning again, and chanting the word, “Yes… daddy, please, not that… fuck… daddy  _ anything…  _ m’not naughty… m’good... boy… please…  _ please _ , fuck…. yes… fuck me daddy.” And he starts to squirm in Phil’s hold, arching back into him and roughly pressing into Phil, and Phil can't hold back anymore.

A groan inevitably slips out of his mouth, hoarse and gravelly, and he buries his head in Dan’s neck, trying to muffle the sound, but he ends up biting down unconsciously on the gleaming skin, and he can taste the salty twinge of sweat and Dan’s scent mingled together, and Dan is groaning and writhing in front of him, and Phil realizes that his hand finally found Dan’s girth, and he pumps it twice before gasping heatedly in horror — Dan can very easily be awakened — and he withdraws his hand out of Dan’s pajamas, wrenching his body a few feet away from Dan’s. Phil lays on his back, a pale arm thrown over his eyes, breaths escaping him shakily, his other hand resting loosely around his own length. 

Dan is murmuring softly next to him, chanting  _ yes daddy _ and  _ please _ and other profanities at random moments, and Phil is still hard and throbbing in his pants. He removes his arm from his eyes, and sweat has collected in the crook of it. He lets his arm fall next to him, wiping it on the material of the duvet. The dampness on his forehead cools against the relatively colder air, and his brain is foggy as he tries to calm his erratic heart.

***

_ Dan’s ragged breath fills the dim room, and he moans softly at sporadic intervals. He’s trying his best to stay still, but can't help squirming _ _ — _ _ especially when Phil turns the dial to a higher level, and then Dan is a moaning mess, damp curls pressed with sweat, “Ohh my-Fuck!” he can't help but cry, breathing gasps of air. _

_ Phil tsks, “Such naughty words... Are you asking me to turn it higher, baby?” _

_ “N-no please it was an acciden-/nng!/” Dan yelps, and Phil has already turned it one level higher. His fingers tighten, chest heaving, and he opens his eyes, a small ring of ochre around dilated pupils, and directs his gaze to the ground, unable to look at Phil, “Daddy, please,” his hoarse voice whispers. _

_ “Please what?” _

_ “Fuck me,” he shudders as a wave of electricity passes through him, and the vibrator continues to rub mercilessly against him, length painfully throbbing, strands of lube dripping down his inner thigh, and a shaky breath escapes him as a streak of precum spurts out obscenely.  _

_ Phil’s smooth voice is asking, “-uck you… with gentle caressings and overflowing, unconditional affection?” _

_ “No!” Dan gasps, his flush spreading to his swelling chest, “Fuck me..hnn-/hard/ _ **…** _ like I d-deserve, daddy _ . _ ”  _

_ Dan’s breath hitches as he hears the unmistakable, dark, sinister chuckle that guarantees absolutely nothing, “And why would I do that, baby?” _

_ Dan finds himself wailing in agony as he throws his head back, and his eyes scrunch, mouth falling open, while Phil turns it a notch higher, and he’s seeing white, stars exploding behind his closed lids, hot streaks of euphoria alighting in his blood, knuckles whitening _ _ — _ _ but the cockring stops his blissful release, and a tormented groan escapes his panting mouth. _

_ *** _

Of course, Dan doesn’t come in his dream, but he does in real life. Dan awakes abruptly, and flings himself on his elbow, resting on his side, breath puffing out irregularly, his head swimming, heart pounding. And then he realizes that he’s back in their apartment, away from his dream, away from the sinful police officer that was Phil, away from the metal handcuffs, and the soft pelting of rain was calming his racing heart. What. The everloving fuck. A dream. A fucking dream. Oh god, the  _ dream.  _ Damn. He’s never going to be able to look at Phil the same way again. He breathes deeply and smooths an index finger and thumb over his closed eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, and his shaky breaths were finally returning to normal… somewhat. Where did his brain conjure  _ that  _ from?! Goddamn fucking overactive imagination.

He’s sticky for the second time that week. But this time he can identify the reason. He sighs, too tired to wash up for the moment and bonelessly sinks back into the warm duvet, and notices that Phil is asleep beside him. Oh yeah, Phil fell asleep earlier than him again. 

Dan remembers turning the lights off, putting the popcorn bowl away, rinsing his glass of ribena in the sink, and was about to wake Phil up and tell him to sleep in his bedroom instead of on an uncomfortable couch. But when he returned, he found that he didn’t have the heart to wake him as Phil’s face had been tranquil, soft, and steady breaths fell from his pink lips, innocent face glowing with youthfulness. Dan leaned forward briefly, pressing his mouth against Phil’s for a fleeting moment; he simply couldn’t resist. Pink dusted along Dan’s face, heart thrumming slightly faster in his chest. They were already in their pajamas, and Dan thought _screw it_ and had joined Phil, creeping under their warm blanket. He was momentarily impressed, wondering how Phil had that much self-control, because Dan knew _he_ certainly didn’t. 

If only Dan knew the truth of that statement to its full extent.

Now Dan stares at Phil, gaze warm and shimmering with fondness. But then he frowns, realizing that Phil is too far away from him. He remembers they had fallen asleep practically cuddling; when did they get so far away? 

Dan shifts closer , throwing an arm around Phil’s wide chest and hooking a leg over his torso. Then he feels it. His knee slightly brushes against Phil’s arousal, and Dan gasps at the feeling, heart beating in his throat. He shoots up like a spring, blanket falling to his waist. Phil is hard? Phil is… hard. Phil is  _ hard. _

Fuck. 

Dan tries to calm his increasingly heavy breaths to no avail. Knowing that the only barrier between himself and Phil’s cock is the thin, flimsy, cotton material of his pajama pants are definitely not helping, and Dan’s fingers itch, toes curling. Dan feels himself moving the duvet slightly lower, past Phil’s hips, and he glances up cautiously with bated breath to see if Phil’s still asleep. Phil isn't moving and seems to be breathing normally, so he’s probably sleeping, Dan thinks. However, in his daze—desire fogging all logical senses—he isn't able to carefully examine Phil’s  _ truly _ rigid state.  

Because the truth is that Phil isn't sleeping. Far from it, actually. He’s wide awake.

Phil had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he’s too scared to actually ‘wake up’ because he knows it would be undoubtedly awkward. And now he’s stuck here, with Dan looking at him like he’s a full-course meal, and Phil resigns; why wouldn't he accept a free… whatever Dan decides to do to him. When he felt Dan stirring beside him, he tried to eliminate any evidence of his arousal, but he couldn't help it; he just witnessed Dan orgasm, after all, and the image is permanently engraved into his mind, bleeding behind his closed lids, and Dan’s filthy moans are still echoing in his ears. Phil knows that he was falling down a black hole as soon as Dan started. 

Dan exhales, breaths irregular, and he practically salivates at the possibilities. A sleeping Phil! What should he do? He could ride him! His blood warms at the thought, but he realizes that it would probably wake Phil, and it’s a bit much. No, there’s something else that he can do that he has been waiting desperately to do forever, and his hands tingle, gooseflesh breaking out all over his damp skin. He knows it’s wrong to take advantage of Phil like this, but Phil doesn't have to know about it; as long as Phil keeps sleeping, he would be fine. Besides, Phil wouldn’t turn this down, right? He overheard Phil say that he loved someone, and Dan hopes that the certain  _ someone  _ is himself.

He gingerly places a hand over Phil’s arousal, and Phil’s hips unconsciously jump into them. Phil’s heart is stuttering in the tight coffin that is his chest, molten heat running through his blood like lava, and his fingers grasp the soft material of their couch. 

Dan takes a sharp intake of breath, checking to see if Phil is still asleep. Phil’s eyes are still closed and fluttering slightly, eyebrows crinkled. Dan exhales breathlessly, and cautiously continues to pump Phil steadily with long fingers and experienced hands. Dan gasps, cheeks flaming, when Phil groans lowly in his throat, a thrill of fear and arousal spiking through him simultaneously, stomach surging with the emotions, heart bursting in his throat. After Dan briefly checks to make sure Phil is still sleeping, he feels his hands moving on their own accord, sliding Phil’s pajamas lower, past strong hip-bones, and he ignores the warning sirens ringing in his ears; Dan wants a taste. No, he  _ needs _ it. He can't resist any longer. He’s practically drooling by the time he finally uncovers Phil’s flushed cock, warm and wet with precum, thick and thrumming beneath his hands.

Of course, Dan doesn't notice the subtle noises Phil makes, small gasps and light moans, and doesn't notice the small movement of his hands balling into tight fists, knuckles turning white. When Phil feels Dan uncover his weeping length, he holds his breath, toes curling, marveling silently at Dan’s recklessness. 

Dan ducks his mouth forward jerkily, excitement causing his movements to be slightly more clumsy than usual. He tentatively licks the head of Phil’s cock, and the salty taste of Phil’s come and an indescribable, musky taste of  _ Phil  _ floods his taste-buds, and Dan almost moans around Phil’s length from just the taste itself. Dan looks up at Phil under his long lashes, gauging Phil’s reaction. His reaction was immediate: mouth parting, pink lips exhaling, jagged breaths escaping his mouth, chest heaving with each rapidly increasing breath. Dan hums, sealing his full lips around the head, prompting a groan to erupt from Phil’s mouth, and Phil almost cries when he realized he has to restrain himself from saying Dan’s name aloud, and he doesn't have the freedom to grip Dan’s sweaty locks in his vibrating fingers. 

It’s torture. 

Dan’s sinful mouth mercilessly works over him, lighting bolts running through his veins, alighting in his skin. Dan licks up and around Phil’s length, and then he’s deep throating him without warning, the head of Phil’s cock painfully thrusting against the back of Dan’s throat, and Dan groans at the feeling of it, searing heat burning his nerve-endings, throat burning, blood pounding, tears reflexively rushing to his eyes, streaming down his flushed face. 

Phil scrunches his eyes closed and his hips jerk up wildy in Dan’s heated throat, and he peeks through his half-closed lids, blearily managing to catch Dan’s dishevelled state: damp curls bouncing with every slight thrust, flushed face gorgeously scrunched up in concentration, reddened lips swollen and stretched around his burning length, a string of saliva dripping over his chin, down to his panting throat, dried tear-stains on his flushed cheeks, and a few more tears leak out, falling atop Phil’s pale hips. And then the mahogany pools open, glazed and lidded, staring at Phil under long lashes, the obsidian orbs pleading wantonly, darkened and dilated with lust. Phil’s breath hitches, trapped in his throat, blood pounding in his ears, and he shuts his eyes instantly, hoping that Dan didn’t see them open, and he’s seeing white underneath the closed lids, vision exploding in a cacophony of swirling colors, blood roaring in his ears, and every bone in his body screams, and he’s coming hard for the second time that week, and his jaw falls open breathlessly in a silent moan when he feels Dan swallowing the remains. 

Dan drinks every single drop of it, his throat working continuously, savoring taste and the moment of finally giving Phil the blow job he has always dreamed of. Dan thinks he saw Phil staring at him, piercing blue eyes locking with his own blown ones momentarily, looking through his soul, the moment suspended in time—but he must’ve imagined it since Phil’s features are now peaceful and he’s only breathing slightly heavier under their duvet, sweat gleaming on his forehead, cheeks tinged pink with exertion. Other than that, there are no signs that Phil has indeed awakened. Dan runs a hand through his thick, messy curls and then silently fixes Phil’s pajamas, throat tight with shame, and he covers Phil with the duvet with shaking hands, before ambling to the bathroom to wash up. His stomach clenches, guilt swimming in its depths, as he processes what he just did to his best friend. Horror creeps through his bones, cold and chilling, and his heart lurches sickeningly, stomach twisting in knots. How could he consider that as a good idea?! What is wrong with him? Why does he have no goddamn self-control?! First his rather obscene dream, and then  _ this _ ? For fuck’s sake. He would never be able to look at Phil in the same way again. Ever. 

And his heart shatters like glass, the small pieces painfully digging into the tissue, when he realizes that he may have just ruined their entire relationship, and a choked sob rips through his clogged throat, vision blurring with unshed tears as he finally makes his way to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops hello angst, was wondering when u were gonna show up to the party *sips tea*
> 
> \---  
> As always, thank you for reading and for the wonderful comments <3


	4. Pain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES it's finally here!  
> im sorry for the title but it's exactly what it sounds like....  
> this is what happens when i try to write angst gdi 
> 
> also im kinda still dead after that video they put up yesterday idk bout u guys, are y'all alive?  
> i kinda wanna write something on that yoga part they did... hehehehe but prob not in this fic? idk we'll see  
> anyway ENJOY

_ 9:00 am. _

Dan is crying again. 

His eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, and he sniffles softly as he makes his morning tea, crossing his arms and staring distantly into space as he waits for the kettle to boil, his black jumper practically swallowing him whole. Phil gazes at him from the couch, crystal eyes swimming with concern, chest tightening. Dan has been in this state for a week now. Why is he acting like this? Ever since they slept together on the couch, Dan refused to talk to him, and had holed himself up in his room. Phil wasn't so sure that Dan had, in fact, given him what he had coined the ‘blow job of his life’ that night, since he woke up on an empty couch later that morning; he was almost certain that he dreamed the whole thing up. But Dan’s behavior suggests otherwise. 

Phil primarily tried to give him some space. He knows Dan had those days — _ everyone _ has those days— and everyone needs their space once in a while. However, Dan would at  _ least  _ share his troubles with Phil by the end of the day, or tell Phil  _ something _ . A small confirmation of his health, or maybe an apology for ignoring Phil all day . And Phil would console him accordingly, explaining that it’s human nature and that there’s no reason to apologize. 

None of these things happened. Dan didn't speak a word to Phil during this excruciating week. And Phil doesn't want to make him uncomfortable by talking to him first. But he’s reaching his breaking point. 

It makes Phil think of the worst. What if Dan regrets it? What if he doesn't like Phil in that way? No, Phil can live with that. He’s fine with staying friends with Dan. No, his irrational fear is — what if Dan is preparing to move out? Who knows what he does in his room for all those hours. He could be packing in there, collecting all his belongings together. Phil’s stomach surges at the thought, blood chilling. Dan probably hates him for never returning the favor. After all, Dan could’ve known that Phil had been awake all along, and it could’ve been some sort of test to see if Phil would take the initiative. Or Dan could’ve simply hated the experience of it altogether, and may have decided that enough was enough and it’s time to move out. Phil’s head throbs at the possibilities and he frowns, reaching up to massage his temples, moving his fingers in small circles across the pale, pounding skin. Phil tries to reassure himself by reminding himself that there’s a possibility that he can be over-analyzing everything; Dan can just be upset over something as relatively trivial as the story of the living bird that died for a cement bird in its unconditional love. It happened before, after all.

The shrill screech of the kettle breaks his panicked ponderings, and he sees Dan scuffling around in the kitchen, the soft sound of clinking glass reaching his ears. He watches Dan’s shaking hands pour the tea into a brittle cup, steam rising from the delicate glass. No, Phil decides, it’s not so trivial. He can tell when something is wrong, and everything about the picture before him screams that something, indeed, is  _ very  _ wrong.

“Dan,” Phil calls, gingerly placing his laptop to the side, “Are you… erm… alright?” 

Dan squeaks, nearly spilling the scalding tea onto his hands. He pauses, taking a violent intake of breath, “I-I’m fine,” he manages to whisper, and Phil can barely hear his wispy voice from where he’s sitting. After a breath, Dan continues pouring. Phil’s heart lurches in his chest, hating that Dan is going through this because of him. It’s all his fault. He should've ‘woken up’ that night and stopped Dan before he wrapped his pretty lips around him. He’d rather have that single moment of awkwardness instead of a week of torture. And he misses talking to Dan, misses watching morning anime with him, misses the light banter that they shared, misses their inside jokes, misses his vibrant, dimpled smile — he just misses  _ Dan _ .

Rising from the couch, Phil treads over to Dan, voice a gentle sigh, “No, you’re not fine, Dan. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Dan  _ does  _ spill the burning tea over his hands this time, and he hisses, jerking his hand away from the pot, “Fuck!” He winces, fingers tingling painfully, the skin blistering a light pink. 

“Dan!” Phil gasps, panic spiking through his chest, and he had a sudden urge to crush Dan’s shivering, vulnerable body against his own, “Shit. I’m sorry. I scared you.”

Dan wordlessly scampers to the sink, running his hand under cold water, avoiding Phil’s prying gaze. 

“Dan…” Phil murmurs, ocean eyes pleading for a response. Dan moves to dry his hands with a towel, and Phil’s eyes follow his figure worriedly, “Dan.  _ Dan _ , talk to me,” Phil repeats, urgency evident in his tone.

“I said I was  _ fine _ , Phil,” Dan huffs, silently marveling at the fact that his voice didn't tremble that time. He warily throws the damp napkin away and examines his hand, spreading his fingers out before his eyes and squinting at them. Then Phil steps beside him, soothing a cool hand over his own, ivory skin against the reddened burn. Dan stares dumbly at their interlocked fingers, his heart stuttering in his chest, and he finds it hard to breathe. 

Phil holds up Dan’s abused fingers, lacing them through his own and rubbing a tender hand over the skin, and Dan wonders if anyone’s hands can fit that perfectly together, and he tries to ignore the butterflies fluttering in his stomach. Phil’s voice is thick with emotion when he speaks, “Dan. You’re  _ not _ okay. Please, tell me what I did. I promise I didn’t mean to hurt you,” and he squeezes Dan’s warm hand in his own.

Dan feels his throat tighten, and when he feels Phil’s gentle squeeze, all he can feel is the sensation of it squeezing around his fragile heart, and his chest clenches, guilt eating him up from the inside. Phil thinks it was  _ his _ fault this whole time. How fucked up can he be to hurt Phil, of all people. Phil, who loves him even when Dan is being an emotional wreck. Phil, who could never hurt a fly even if he tried. Phil, a magnificent, brilliant beam of sunshine, who always manages to brighten up Dan’s day without fail.  _ Phil. _ Dan doesn’t understand how Phil can love someone like him. He’s clearly undeserving of Phil’s love. Sometimes he wonders how and  _ why  _ Phil puts up with him. Dan wants to voice these thoughts out loud to Phil, to finally show Phil what he means to him; the words are burning on the tip of his tongue.

However, all that comes out when he tries to speak is a malicious spat: “Get away from me! Don’t fucking touch me,” his voice spasms violently, and he’s snatching his hand away, out of Phil’s soft grasp, legs storming to his room on their own accord, eyes stinging.

After slamming his bedroom door shut with an echoing  _ BAM _ , Dan immediately sinks down, breathing heavily, back pressed against his wooden door, burying his flushed face in his knees, tears pooling behind his closed eyes. A moment later he’s hearing a steady banging at his door, and he can hear Phil’s frenzied voice, “Dan! Let me in, I won’t let this go on for another day,” northern accent bleeding into his muffled voice.

Dan sniffs, lifting his head from his knees, red-rimmed eyes shining in the morning light, heart pounding for an inexplicable reason.

“We need to talk, Dan,” there’s a slight pause, and then Phil is speaking again, “Dan? Dan, I  _ will _ knock this door down if you don’t open it.” Phil bangs on it three more times for a good measure, and Dan can feel the vibrations of it against his back. 

Dan sighs shakily, scruffing a hand over his blotchy face, brown curls bouncing with the force of it. What a goddamn mess. 

“Dan!” Phil shouts.

“A-alright! Alright, shit. Calm down. I’m opening it,” Dan’s voice wavers, and then he’s opening the door, and he’s face to face with Phil, sapphire eyes burning with emotion behind his thick-rimmed glasses, pale forehead gleaming and creased — the image contorted in Dan’s bleary vision. All Dan can think is:  _ it’s all my fault _ .  _ It's all my fault. It's all my fault.  _ Phil is  _ worrying  _ about him. He doesn't deserve his sympathy. His eyes blur yet again. His heart is heavy in his chest, but feels hollow, and he belatedly realizes that he isn't breathing. 

“Dan,” Phil’s voice, warm like honey, flows like music into his ears. A voice that speaks one, monosyllabic word that holds so many questions. A voice that is so different from the merciless one in his dream, and then Dan gasps, his shuddering heart thrumming painfully in the bird-cage that was his chest and a painful, hot feeling spreads through his heart like poison, and it feels like someone has stabbed him, and the warm, toxic blood was bleeding through his ribcage, and his vision is blurring, and his lungs are burning, and his skin is crawling, and he tries — and fails — to breathe, and then he’s stumbling into Phil’s flailed arms, and Phil’s eyes widen, and Dan crumbles into his warm body. His wet eyes press into Phil’s rigid shoulder and his throat clamps, a broken wail ripping from his pained chest, and  _ finally  _ the dam breaks inside him, hot tears pouring over his flushed face, flooding onto Phil’s shirt, and Dan is hiccuping into the crumpled material, and he can feel Phil’s large, warm hands rubbing his back soothingly, the gesture oddly comforting, calming his battering heart, and he inhales Phil’s familiar scent , which consists of  raspberry shampoo and a hint of aftershave , and the pleasant smell  floats into his senses, grounding his muddled, twisted brain, and Phil is hushing a string of comforting words in Dan’s ears, breath tickling the sensitive lobes, words incoherent to Dan as blood still roars inside them, but his shoulders sag at the small touches and whisperings, and his heaving, raw sobs drum to small gasps against Phil’s sodden shoulder. 

Dan has no idea how long he clung to Phil in that position. When his burbling cries finally dwindle, Dan shakily removes himself from the embrace, his hands still clutching Phil’s shoulders, and Phil’s arms loosely rest on his hips, his thumbs smoothing circles over the material of Dan’s jumper. Dan swallows at the subtle intimacy of the movement, heart bursting in his throat.

“Better?” Phil murmurs, cobalt eyes boring reassuringly into Dan’s chocolate orbs. Dan nods mutely, and shudders as Phil’s hands continue to work over him, butterflies erupting in his stomach, eyes fluttering closed at the gentle touch. Phil must’ve thought it was a shudder of discomfort, however, since he relentlessly presses his long fingers even  _ harder  _ into the sensitive skin. 

Dan gasps heatedly, masking it as a gasp of horror, “Y-your shirt…” he prods the wet material on Phil’s shoulder, “I've… ruined it,” he swallows, flicking his eyes back up to meet Phil’s crystal ones.

Phil giggles, a melodious sound that does nothing to alleviate Dan’s fluttering heart, “It’s alright, Dan. It's not a problem.” Phil stops himself from saying  _ I could ruin a million shirts for you _ ; not only is it ridiculously cheesy, but it also reveals too much of his I'm-hopelessly-in-love-with-my-best-friend everlasting mood. 

“Sorry… about that,” Dan mutters, glancing at his shuffling feet, continuing to sheepishly smooth a hand over Phil’s wet shoulder, warmth bleeding through the sheer fabric.

Phil shivers slightly, pulse humming at Dan’s soft touches, “Don't worry about it,” Phil continues, then grimaces, “Dan, about that night — it’s ok if you don’t want to talk about it.”

Dan’s breath hitches in his throat, and his head whips back up to look at Phil, and  before he can stop his traitorous mouth, he’s blurting, “C-could you give me a massage, actually?” 

Fuck. Fucking shit. He’s such a goddamn masochist. Where did that come from? He can't help himself. His brain is fogging and he’s emotionally drained and  Phil’s hands are sending warm tingles through him; it must’ve been a freudian slip or something. 

Phil’s eyes grow wider, jaw gaping open before clacking shut, and a spark of lust filters through his cerulean orbs momentarily. It’s gone so fast that Dan wonders if he imagined it. 

The air hangs tersely between them for a few moments, and then Dan feels himself speaking, “It’s just—I’ve been so tense for… erm… various reasons…” he coughs, pink dusting along his cheeks. Shit. Fucking smooth, Daniel, “And I-I think it would help… I mean I could go to a masseuse, but you know how much I hate going outside, l-let alone to a massage parlor and interact with… other um-other fellow humans, so…uhm,” goddamnit he’s fucking rambling.

Ignoring the spike of heat that shoots through his blood at Dan’s question, Phil realizes that Dan’s right. Dan  _ has  _ been stressed for the past week, and it would only make sense to give him a massage, to smooth away any taut knots on his glorious skin, and his fingers buzz with an unknown energy, stilling on Dan’s hips, and simply clutching them rigidly instead. He doesn't trust his fingers to move innocently, and the line between innocent and scandalous can be crossed easily. Too easily.   Phil nods jerkily, and his voice rumbles, “R-right —Yea-err- I think it’s a great idea, Dan.” 

There’s a rift in the conversation —Dan has finally removed his hands from Phil’s shoulders to play with the hem of his baggy shirt, cheeks gradually blooming a light pink, and Phil has to look anywhere but Dan, hands ripping away from Dan’s hips and diving into his pockets— and they hope the pause doesn't last as long as it feels. Then both of them are speaking at the same time:

“So do you want to do it in here —”

“Do you mind if I take my top off—”

Phil chuckles lowly, and Dan’s lips quirk in a small smile, dimple showing, eyes still slightly watery. Phil starts, “Yeah, it’s okay if you take your jumper off,” and he hopes that Dan can't hear the slight rasp in his voice. 

Because the truth was, it isn't okay. It isn't okay at all. He can feel beads of sweat dot along his forehead—when did it get so hot? Phil can't let his feelings get in the way. Dan genuinely needs a massage, and he needs to be the good friend who can lend a shoulder at any time. He can make that sacrifice. Dan is worth the sacrifice. 

But Phil’s thoughts melt, burning out of his mind and singeing, breath seizing in his lungs when Dan turns around to remove the damned material, revealing his golden skin inch by inch. It’s only a back. Phil repeats the words over in his head like a mantra—until he can't. Because it isn't only a back. It’s  _ Dan’s _ back: a wide expanse of pale, golden-dusted skin, a dust of beauty spots littered over it, muscles rippling as he struggles comically to pull the confounded piece of clothing over his head. Phil would’ve snickered at him under normal circumstances, if it wasn’t for the heat that starts to alight in his veins, or for the lack of air in his lungs, or for his papery-dry mouth. It’s so unfair. What is this—a goddamn strip tease?

And then Dan’s spreading out over his dark bedsheets, sturdy arms propped so that he  can  rest his head over his hands, looking to one side, muscles coiled deliciously. He closes his chocolate orbs, fans of eyelashes fluttering, and then hums, “Ok. You can start now.”

Dan waits a few beats, hearing the sound of Phil’s footsteps pounding in the room—is Phil tap-dancing?—and then Dan belatedly realizes that it’s actually the sound of his own heart thumping in his eardrums. Because Phil’s hands are already on him. He just can't feel them; they’re spluttering over his shoulders, grazing over his spine, skating lightly over his skin. 

“Phil. I can’t feel a thing,” Dan huffs, “Do it harder.”

He can hear Phil’s soft intake of breath and smirks inwardly. At least he isn't the only one suffering in this. Then Phil’s hands are on him again with slightly more pressure, sending soft tingles through Dan, and his body warms, and a soft sigh escapes him. But it isn't enough. After a few moments, Phil’s hands return to their previous—fucking  _ useless _ —pressure. 

“ _ Phil _ ,” Dan frowns, frustration blending into his tone, “Goddamnit, do it harder.”

“Like this?” Phil’s gravelly voice, and then his hands rough over a particularly tough knot, pressing down mercilessly. 

Dan keens, a prickling sensation exploding in his gut, toes scrunching, “Oh  _ fuck _ ,” jolts of adrenaline flooded through his flushed skin—because it hu rts. But it hurts so good .

“Shit! Sorry!” Phil gasps in a hushed whisper, immediately removing his hands, and Dan almost cries at the lack of contact.

“No. Fuck, Phil. Why don’t you understand,” and then he’s whipping around to face Phil, and grabbing his shoulders. Phil stops breathing, determined to keep his eyes to trained to Dan’s—he notices they’re glossed like glazed chocolate, and his pupils are noticeably dilated—and Phil hopes his eyes doesn't betray him and wander lower, down to the sharp collar bones, to his soft, yet firm expanse of golden skin, and down the slopes of his prominent hip-bones, to the peppering of hair trailing down—Oh. Goddamnit, too late.

Phil’s breath hitches as Dan’s face swims into his personal space. He’s so  _ close _ . When Dan speaks he can feel the hot breath mingling with his own, “ _ Harder _ ,” he says, pressing down on Phil’s shoulders barbarically. Phil jolts, pain shooting through his spine, hissing, and there’s an odd twinkle in Dan’s nearly obsidian orbs, “Exactly—hurts, right?” 

“Yeah,” Phil grunts,  voice  low, heart pounding, eyes catching on Dan’s pink lips. Molten heat erupts in his gut, electricity sizzling in the small space between them. 

Dan’s blood pounds in his ears when he sees Phil’s eyes flicker to his lips, and he unconsciously licks them, dragging his tongue across the full expanse of his lower lip, and his blood sings when he notices the way Phil’s eyes darken at the small gesture, his azure eyes fastening on to the soft morsel of skin, moving just the  _ tiniest _ bit closer to Dan in his entranced state, breath puffing against Dan’s pinkened face. And Dan has to stop himself from throwing himself against Phil and kissing him  _ hard  _ because he could’ve done it; every fiber in his body is screaming at him to close the short distance between them—but it just isn't the right timing. 

Dan continues breathily, ignoring his palpitating heart, “Now don’t ask me if it hurts because—”  _ I think I might have a slight pain kink _ , his brain supplies unhelpfully, “—just don’t,” he fortunately amends, “Don’t worry if you do,” and he turns and flopped back on his stomach, breathing heavily, thanking the stars that he didn’t indulge in the temptation that is Phil. Although it did come close that time.

Then  _ finally _ , Phil’s strong hands are working over him, turbulent and rugged, and Dan gasps, face heating, electric jolts running through his veins, exploding at the nerve endings, and his body is pliant, sinking into the mattress, and he heaves gasps of air, trying to stop himself from making obscene noises, but fails a moment later, a soft moan slipping out of his breathless mouth, and he buries his face into his bed sheets so that he can somewhat silence his sounds—to no avail, since Phil can still hear them.   

Phil’s hands still, and the sound of heavy breathing filled the room, “O-Okay?” he asks tentatively.

Dan shivers, the surface along his spinal column buzzing with the feeling of Phil’s fingers, and he’s already missing them, and then his mouth is running on auto-pilot, “Fuck _ , yes  _ okay-very okay—more than okay—please keep going-oh god-don’t stop,” he babbles, sluggish brain fogging, and he can't help the next hollow moan that erupts from his mouth when Phil’s magic hands are back on his heated skin. 

Phil works over him mercilessly, moving to rub rough strokes over Dan’s spine, and Dan whines, “uhng, yes  _ yes, _ harder,” and then the bed is practically squeaking with every push and tug of Phil’s hands, and an image that would cause the bed to squeak in a similar fashion flashes beneath Dan’s scrunched eyelids, and now he’s moaning for a different reason. 

And then Phil digs the heel of his hand into a stubborn knot, and Dan swears he sees white explosions flickering behind his closed eyes, and groans throatily, molten heat erupting over his clammy skin, gooseflesh following Phil’s talented hands, and his hips jolt, rutting momentarily against his bedsheets, and his eyes crush shut, a single tear managing to squeeze out, trailing down his flushed cheeks, euphoria flooding his veins ,  and his breath escapes him in heaving gasps, and he belatedly realizes he’s hard and leaking in his pants. 

Shit. When did that happen? 

Phil isn't doing any better, though. He’s more than aroused, simply from hearing Dan’s responsive moans — especially since he just saw Dan grinding up on his bed. But in his deliriously lust-ridden state, Phil is sure he probably hallucinated it. In hindsight, Phil should’ve expect this to happen. Dan moans at practically everything. Phil should’ve known from the beginning. But for some reason he thought that Dan would behave this time, and wouldn’t torment Phil like this. Granted, he probably doesn't even know that he’s tormenting Phil in the first place, but that’s besides the point. The slight relief he felt after he realized that Dan wasn’t indeed moving out is soon replaced with stirrings of heat and unbridled lust. Phil isn't prepared. His blood is boiling, and his breathing is labored, and he recognizes that he’s angry—at himself. And his hands crush Dan’s skin fervorously, and he’s taking his anger out on the golden skin, which turns a pale pink, and prompts more whines and incoherent mumbles from Dan’s sinful mouth, muffled moans against the checkered duvet.

Phil thinks he might actually have to move out, ironically. He’s finding it harder and harder and  _ harder _ to control himself around Dan. He braces himself, taking a sharp intake of breath when he hears Dan’s obscene sounds. No. He can do this. He can survive through the agony. 

He wonders if Dan is aroused beneath him; judging from the sounds he’s making, it seems like he is, but he isn't so sure. He can't exactly ask  _ hey Dan, you getting off on this?  _ Phil sighs and continues to rub his hands down and over the warm skin of Dan’s shoulders. His inkling further increases when Dan subtly shifted on the bed again, hips stuttering unconsciously, and Phil’s eyes pop out in shock, breath halting in his throat, blood roaring in his ears. Is he really hallucinating? He needs to test his theory. He feels his hands moving on their own accord, repeating the motion that caused that reaction, digging his hands into Dan’s firm shoulder blade harshly, and a choked whine rips from Dan’s mouth, “Oh  _ fuck! _ Ohh-oh my- _ Phil.  _ Mm-more _...”  _ And when he pays close attention to Dan’s lower body, he saw his hips  _ just barely _ snapping into the duvet.

Damn. It’s a good time to leave now. He needs to get out. He’s already half-hard and tingling all over from Dan’s flamboyant moans, and he doesn't want to be exposed. Besides, his hands are starting to get tired, if he’s being perfectly honest. 

“Dan,” Phil rasps, his voice sounding different to his  _ own  _ ears—darker and gravelly—and Dan practically shudders underneath him. Phil distractedly trails his finger down the curve of his spine, and Dan let loose yet another soft mewl. Phil’s breath hitches. Yup. Definitely a good time to leave, “Dan, my hands are starting to get tired, is it ok if I stop now?” 

“Hnnm? Yeah, ‘course, Phil,” is Dan’s breathy response. And Phil barely hears Dan’s soft  _ thank you _ because he’s already out the door, bolting to his bedroom.

Dan lays lifelessly for a few moments on his bed, length pulsing lazily against his stomach.

He did it again. Phil ran away from him. Despite his suffering, a breathy giggle escapes him. Is Phil blind? Dan hopes Phil would realize the truth soon. He thought he was making it obvious but Phil always seems to ignore any of his teasing innuendos. 

But—how the fuck can Phil be this blind? Is he going to have to walk naked around their apartment and jump Phil? Will that get his attention? Dan snorts at the ridiculous image. That certainly wasn't happening anytime soon. And besides, he has more… pressing matters to attend to at the moment. 

***

Dan’s back is still tingling with the feeling of Phil’s relentless fingers, and spasms of pain still reverberate through his heated skin as scalding hot water peppers down on him. He has decided to take a shower, and his hands are working vigorously over his crying length. He remembers the feeling of Phil’s gentle hands on him, smoothing over his hips. And how it contrasted so much with the harsh, turbulent, firm hands that had worked over the prickling skin of his back. A gasp tears from his panting mouth, as he works furiously over his length, his mind fogging like the steam around him, and his flushed chest rises and falls with every string of profanities.

The massage only made the pinkened skin of his back even  _ more  _ sensitive, and he can feel every single drop of burning water run through his skin and electrify his veins. 

And he wonders when Phil would finally fuck him, when his full cock can finally enter him, and when he will finally get to be dominated, and if Phil would ever lose his rigid control. 

The scene of Phil losing his control suddenly fills his sluggish mind, the image swimming into Dan’s hazy vision once more. He can still hear the creaking of his bed echoing in his eardrums, and then he can see Phil slamming him into the wall, hot breaths mingling with his own, heart pounding, sapphire orbs blown and dark and burning Dan’s blood, stomach searing in flames. Because Dan knows those eyes have a lot of power. One look at the right angle and he would become a blubbering mess, begging for release. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Dan whines, breaths getting increasingly heavier, thumbing his erection roughly, “Can't you see, Phil?” He pants to no one in particular, head falling back, eyebrows furrowing, and his tongue trails across shiny lips, wishing they were Phil's instead. Streams of scalding water cascade down on his broad chest, steamy mist rising from the surfaces, and he hisses as a hot drop of water catches his sensitive nipple, already hardening, a tightess building low in his gut. 

Dan reaches a hand up to twist at the dusky pectoral, and muffles his whine as he bites down harshly on his lower lip, his other hand still twisting aggressively over his shaft, a low groan escaping through his teeth, “Isn't it—” he breathes shakily, his hand speeding up as he felt the familiar tightening in his stomach, white streaks bleeding into his vision, “—oh  _ fuck _ —obvious yet?” And then he gasps as he sees Phil jack-hammering into him, finally filling into him like he had always dreamed of him doing, and he can feel Phil’s wicked mouth biting into the skin of his sensitive neck, leaving throbbing bruises in the abused areas, and he’s finally coming, blood roaring in his ears, stars dancing behind his closed eyes, bones warming, long streaks coating onto his hands, and he chants colorful blasphemies, a drawn out moan of Phil’s name echoing in his breathless mouth. 

***

Dan now sits in his bedroom, browsing the Internet, hair damp and curling after his much-needed shower. After clearing up everything with Phil this morning, it feels like a weight has lifted off his shoulders, even though he’s now physically and emotionally drained. But his skin is buzzing happily, and he has a lazy energy purring within him. He’s looking forward to a day of just relaxing on his bed, and maybe watching a studio ghibli movie with Phil later at night.

So he isn't expecting it when he hears Phil’s call, “Dan?” 

At first, Dan thinks he imagined it. His desperate brain is probably missing Phil already, for fucks sake. 

But after a moment, he hears Phil’s voice echo towards him again, “Dan, I know you’re not sleeping.”

He frowns. What could Phil want from him now? Maybe he heard him in the bathroom and wants to interrogate him. For some reason, the thought causes his heart to pound up his throat, a spark of heat zipping through him. Damn. He really needs to get laid. 

Dan clears his wayward thoughts and tries to be indifferent, even though he’s almost holding his breath in anticipation, “What is it, Phil? I'm lazy and I don't want to move right now.” It’s true. He is. 

“Dan you need to come look at this.” 

Dan can practically hear the cheeky grin on Phil’s face. The shit is being evasive and annoying and he knows it. Dan’s bones are still heavy though. Maybe if he waits long enough, Phil will just come to his room. But his wishful thinking is ruined a second later. 

“Daannnnn.” 

Dan sighs. No chance of that happening now. He stumbles up on his feet and stomps out of his room, “This better be good,” he mutters under his breath. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, thanks for reading!


	5. Reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one of my fav chapters! here ya go enjoy

_ Nighttime. _

Dan breathes harshly, breath coming out in jagged puffs. He hears the murmuring of the crowd — most jeering and giggling in delight — and Dan gasps at the strange jolt of electricity alighting in his blood. He’s propped on a fancy wooden chair with his hands bound behind his back by a leather belt, courtesy of Caspar. They were going to use Dan’s belt, before someone had rather bluntly pointed out that it was the most useless article of clothing, constantly sliding down at every moment. And someone else had muttered  _ lower than my self-esteem, _ which had prompted a few drunken giggles from the audience. Not that Caspar’s belt is any less useless than Dan’s, but more importantly — who’s idea was this, goddamnit?! Who had dared? And why did Phil agree to do it?! They weren't on the best terms before they left their home.

Phil has been ruthless in his torture so far. Who would have ever known that he was such a good dancer? Certainly not Dan. Or any of the bewildered audience. Even with a blindfold sticking to Dan’s damp skin, he can still see him — electric blue eyes, ebony quiff, pale skin — blaring at him behind the darkness. There was an odd glint in his glittering eyes tonight. It was an animalistic, possessive, malicious,  _ dominant _ , glint that causes sparks to erupt beneath Dan’s clammy skin, and he easily loses all ability to breathe. He can't handle Phil’s dominant side. He always knew he had it, resting deep below the sunny exterior, and he saw it come to life on a few intense occasions. 

But not like this. 

Another heated choke escapes him when he feels a hot breath, almost wet, against the skin of his collarbone. Dan leans back instinctively, feeling humid breaths tickling his reinvigorated bruise, and he can feel Phil’s lips barely grazing the blemished skin. Dan scrunches his eyes, inhaling a sharp intake of breath, and the pungent scent of alcohol wafts into his senses, and he braces himself, waiting for the contact to come… waiting… his chest rises and falls with each second… waiting… waiting… nothing. Dan feels his hands curl into tight fists. Phil, the goddamn tease. Phil’s name is burning on the tip of his tongue, but before he can whine the name out, a heaving gasp escapes him. He can feel the a flick of a hot muscle moving along his collarbone, and goose flesh breaks out all over his body. Although — he could’ve imagined the brief sensation since the contact is gone as soon as it comes. A frustrated groan leaves his panting mouth, and he arches back in his chair. His high-strung body can hear —aside from the pounding of his blood— the party screeching, and his head swims in confusion.  _ Now what?!  _ And then Dan is feeling the sweetest torture — hot flames erupting in his veins, blood roaring in his ears. A flash of a word burns through his mind, clashing blindingly with the swirl of colors that had erupted in the darkness of the blindfold. A word that he doesn't dare to utter, but it’s getting harder and  _ harder _ to avoid saying. Phil’s wet tongue continues to work over him, blazing and relentless. His heart pounds up his throat and in his ears, and warm blood courses through him, and he can feel another anguished groan rumble from within him. He can't say it. Not in front of everyone. 

He thrashes in his chair violently, throwing his head back and forth, and his hips buck uncontrollably. And then he feels a stinging sensation on his upper-thigh, accompanied with a resounding  _ smack _ . Dan moans, head lolling, chest heaving, the tingling sensation flooding straight to his pulsing length, blood spiking with heat. The audience falls silent, aside from the few audible gasps. Dan can feel his length twitch as he realizes how public their display really is.

“Stop moving.” It’s Phil’s voice, gravelly and barely there. Then his sinful mouth is on him again, and Dan is wriggling in his seat, pleasure curling in his gut, and he tries his best to stay still. 

He holds his breath, a whine building low in his throat, and he  arches his head back, knuckles whitening against the leather belt, “mmph…” his eyes scrunch behind the dark cloth, and he can still feel the tingling sensation of Phil’s strike on his flushed skin, and Phil does something with his tongue that caused his whole body to convulse, that turns his mind to mush, and before he can register anything, his mouth is running without his consent, and the word finally rips from his throat: “ _ ah,  _ daddy.”

Fuck. 

No. He didn’t just say that. Not in front of all these people. That was just his voice in his mind. Right? Did he really just say that, or is he hallucinating? His chest surges, heart thumping in the tight confines, and he desperately hopes he’s hallucinating. His worries are answered a moment later, when a collective gasp erupts from the crowd, followed by excited chatter and laughter, along with a wolf-whistle.

Fuck!

He really just said that. How did he get into this situation?!

***

_ Three days ago…  _

_ Noon. _

“Dan!” Phil calls from the kitchen. He’s standing upright in front of his laptop, leaning over the countertop. Their breakfast plates are still sitting on the counter and reflect the gray morning light. After no response, Phil tries again: “Dan, I know you’re not sleeping.”

“What is it, Phil? I’m lazy and I don’t want to move right now.” Dan’s voice complains, flowing from his room. 

“Dan, you need to come look at this.” 

Silence.

“Daannnnn.” 

Phil hears soft grumbling and then the sound of stomping is breaking the silence of the flat. He feels a sly grin grow on his face. After  _ the incident _ —real original, he knew— Dan has clearly become more touchy and  _ flirty _ . This, of course, does not apply to the past week because Dan torturously avoided Phil for most of it. But now that their small rift is settled —due to a rather flamboyant massage—Phil has a feeling Dan will revert back to his normal, devious self. No, Phil  _ knows _ Dan is going to revert back to his teasing persona because of that goddamned massage. Phil doesn't know whether to like it or hate it.  Half the time he feels like slamming a pan into his own face for wanting to fuck Dan into oblivion; the other half wants to throw away all his hesitation — what if Dan actually does like him and he’s too much of an idiot to notice? It’s all so confusing to him. Should he play along with this new development? Maybe Dan is just having an extended hangover or something. But it has already been a week after  _ the incident _ , so that’s highly unlikely. Maybe he just wants give the viewers what they want. It sounds like something Dan would do. Or maybe Dan is just being flirty for marketing purposes. Who knows?

He feels a warm presence behind him, “What is it, Phil?” Dan’s gruff voice interrupts his troubled thoughts. 

Phil tries to ignore his skipping heart at the closeness. Focus. He scrolls over an invite, and clears his throat, “So looks like Peej is inviting us over for another party…” 

After a slight pause, Dan speaks, “Another? Didn't we just have one?” Phil can feel his warm breath flutter over the shell of his right ear, and butterflies erupt in his stomach. Why is he always invading his personal space? 

Suppressing a shiver, Phil murmurs, “Yeah. But I guess his birthday’s more important, and he really wants us to come to this one.” They usually skipped parties, but they don't like skipping PJ’s. Especially if it’s his birthday party.

Dan groans, a frustrated sound, but it prompts Phil’s memory to conjure up the sin the occurred a week ago. How is he still not over this? Wasn't the fucking massage enough to satiate this burning? But after a long break with no communication, there’s still a place in his heart that aches for Dan in that way. He must’ve missed Dan more than he thought. But he can never have him like that. Holding his breath, he wills his brain to shut up. He barely registers Dan’s curt response, “Alright,” before Dan turns back on his heel towards his room. 

“Wait! Dan.” 

He turns around, “Hmm?”

“I-I um…” Phil fumbles. Is now a good time to bring it up? “I uh… just try not to drink alcohol… too much.” Phil winces. It sounded so much better in his head. God, he’s so stupid sometimes. 

Dan stares at him, one defined eyebrow raised. Is that a slight smirk playing at his delectable —delectable now? Oh, Phil—lips? They’re moving. Oh. What is he saying? Phil can't hear him.

“Phil?” Dan tilts his head to the side, the movement allowing a hint of a bruise to peek through the edge of his collar, “Phil. Are you listening?”

_ No, bro, I was kinda distracted by your lips. And you. Happens all the time, actually. _ Phil mentally face palms, “Sorry I kinda spaced out for a second, what were you saying?” Phil mumbles, turning his attention back to the computer. He can’t look at Dan… it’s too much for his love-sick heart.

Dan joins him at the counter once again, “Why not?”

“Why not what?” He mutters dumbly.

“Why can’t I drink, dingus,” Dan snorts affectionately, amusement sparkling in his chocolate orbs.

Oh. Right. Oh. How is he supposed to explain this to him?! Then a thought occurrs to him. The video! Should he? No, it’s definitely too crude and embarrassing—not to mention obscenely pornographic. Why did he even think that saving it was a good idea?! But how else can he explain it to him, goddammit. Phil kind of wants to keep the video to himself, as creepy as it sounds. It’s his dark secret. Besides, he already lied to Dan when he told him that nothing had really happened that night. Although, Dan didn’t seem too convinced of that story either. There’s too many complications. Why didn’t he think this through?!

“Philll… what is it?” Dan is poking Phil on his bicep now, the small pricks syncing in beat with his pounding heart.

“Uh… just… it’s—it’s for the better.” Phil hears himself blurt, “I mean, it gets hard for me whenever you drink,” Phil starts, and then gasps at the double meaning. Fuck. Did he really just say that?! He quickly backtracks, face burning, ignoring Dan’s gaping jaw, “I mean! Not that kind of hard, but like… difficult. Um. Difficult hard not  _ hard _ hard. Shit.” He clears his throat, “A-anyway, I think it would be a bit better if you didn’t…  y’know…” Phil’s face turns progressively redder with each word. Fuck, he’s so stupid. 

Dan shakes with silent laughter next to him, “Damn Phil. I know I’m a flirty drunk, but  _ goddamn _ . Are you hiding something from me?” He asks coyly, practically radiating mischievousness. Phil tries to stutter out an answer, but he’s hit with a wave of deja vu and his stomach surges. Before he can analyze the feeling, however, he’s distracted yet  _ again _ by Dan. Dan squints at their leftover breakfast, some left-over cream catching his attention. He scoops it up with his index finger, sucking at the sugary delight, humming slightly, doe eyes looking back at Phil, “Sorry, couldn't resist,” Dan says, his eyes shimmering enchantingly as his wicked tongue continues to lick the long appendage from bottom to top, and when he reaches the top, his eyes shutter closed and he releases a small moan against his fingertip, before repeating the whole process over again. The room becomes exponentially hotter all of a sudden and Phil has to look away from the entrancing almond orbs, and he tugs slightly at his collar as he finds it hard to breathe, tingles breaking out along his skin—because  _ is it hot in here or is it just me?  _ he can't help but think. Phil tries to control his breathing and Dan makes a few more profound noises—most of which Phil tries to block out—and then Dan asks once again, a smoldering glimmer sparkling in his cocoa orbs, “Well, are you? Hiding anything,” he says as he wetly kisses his finger-tips clean.

Phil swallows, adam’s apple bobbing painfully, mouth suddenly dry. Damn him. Is he even legal? It’s definitely not legal to look at someone like that in broad daylight. Phil falters, “O-of course not.” Phil looks pointedly at his computer screen now, like PJ’s invite is the most interesting thing in the whole world, “I wouldn’t hide anything from you.” 

“Are you sure… You can tell me anything, you know. I’m not going to judge.” His voice is soft, reassuring, prompting Phil to glance up at him. Wrong move. There are traces of hurt and a hint of disappointment in his deep mahogany eyes—barely noticeable, but there. 

And then Phil is blurting, “Wedidmorethankissthatnight.”

Fuck. Fuck Dan Howell and his fucking beautiful eyes.

Said eyes widen, eyebrows nearly disappearing into his brown curls. Dan knew that much, but he wasn't expecting Phil to actually say it. There’s a pause, and Phil hopes it isn't as long as it feels. His heart hammers uncomfortably in his chest, and everything is suffocatingly hot. His face is probably as red as a beetroot, and his hands are clammy, sticking to his mouse pad, fogging up his keyboard. 

After what seems like ten years—but is really more like ten seconds—Dan barks out a laugh, a slight smirk ghosting over his features, “I knew that much from this—” and he reaches up to pull down the collar of his shirt, exposing his faint purple bruise. Phil’s ocean eyes darken at the display, eyes focusing on the faded blemish. He remembers what it felt like to bite that bruise into his skin. A ripple of heat creeps through him and he has an urge to press his mouth against it once more, to taste the soft skin, and he can feel saliva pooling in his mouth. He's drawn to the wound like a moth drawn to a flame.

Dan gasps, covering the hickey. Phil looked like he was about ready to devour him whole, “Fuck, Phil,” Dan whispers, breath swirling over Phil’s face. When did they get so close?

“What.” Phil reverberates, flicking his sapphire orbs back up to Dan’s obsidian ones, both of which were equally blown.

“You can’t just…  _ look _ at me like that,” Dan murmurs breathlessly, face burning deep crimson, and he looks at the ground, finding comfort in the gray tiles. 

Phil gasps, and the break with Dan’s hypnotizing amber pools snaps him out of his trance, “Shit. I’m so sorry, Dan. Wait here.”

Before Dan can respond that it’s okay, that he wants to be looked at like that, that he  _ wants _ to be devoured, that he shouldn’t be sorry, that he wants him to come back, Phil is striding away from the counter to his room, away from the kitchen, away from Dan. Dan sighs heavily, trying to cool the redness in his cheeks and calm his frantic heartbeat and tingling skin.

When he reaches his room, Phil belatedly realizes that he left his laptop in the kitchen. His laptop that has the video on it. But he doesn't want to show Dan the video, anyway. He sighs—god he’s so  _ stupid _ ; what was the point of leaving?—and makes his way back to the kitchen.

Dan is staring into space, seemingly lost in his own world. Phil paces back to the kitchen, clearing his throat, “So, yes to PJ’s invite then?”

Dan nods absently, “Yeah. Uh. Why did you need me to wait here?”

Phil gasps. Oh yeah, he said that, “I… uh needed some water… desperately.” Funnily enough, Phil finds that he never needed water more in that exact moment, especially since the inside of his mouth feels like a fucking desert, “A-and my room was the first water location that came to mind,” he swallows. Goddamnit. He wants to hit himself. What the fuck is a water location?

Dan, bless him, doesn't question it. He knows that they are already in the kitchen, the prime location for water, but he doesn't want to make Phil more uncomfortable than he already is. Dan feels like he had already pushed Phil enough for today, although he’s still burning with curiosity for the reasoning behind why he couldn’t drink any alcohol—it can't be  _ that  _ bad, could it? But he won't push Phil.

Not today.

“Okay, Phil,” Dan simply grunts before turning back to his own room.

***

_ Three days later…  _

_ 7:00 pm _

It’s a normal day in the Dan and Phil apartment. Some banting, some dorkiness, some clumsiness, some sexual tension; the usual. They’re just about ready to leave for PJ’s party, both dressed in sleek black suits that seemed to cling to them with every subtle movement. But then Phil finally caves in and decides to show Dan the video of  _ the incident.  _ What prompts him to do such a stupidly horrifying thing? Dan is being a little shit, of course, constantly nagging him, relentlessly asking why he shouldn’t drink any alcohol. Phil thinks the reason was obvious, but Dan is having none of it.

Every time Phil vaguely evades the reason, Dan snidely remarks, “You can’t tell me what to do. It’s my life, I’ll live it the way I want to. I’ll drink as much alcohol as I want, mate.” Phil is tempted to spank him, heat boiling his blood at the thought. Instead, he growls, stormed to retrieve his laptop, flings it into Dan’s bewildered arms, and stomps out of the room.  

Then the apartment was echoing with profanities, and heated argument:

“What the  _ fuck _ , Phil! Why would you think that was a good idea?!”

“Did you really give me a choice, you needy bitch?!” Phil hisses.

Dan gasps heatedly, nerve-endings alighting at the name; once upon a time, Phil called him  _ needy bitch _ in one of his more scandalous dreams, and Dan swears he can feel the cold metal restraints on his wrists again, and he pushes the image of Phil in a police uniform—domineering and radiating malice—to the back of his mind, “The fuck did you just call me?” Dan manages to rasp, face blooming red in anger and arousal.

If Phil notices the subtle change in Dan’s demeanor, he doesn't comment on it; instead, he spats, “Exactly what you are, you goddamn whore—” 

Dan tries to ignore the heat simmering in his gut at the colorful language, and blood rushes hot in his chest, fingers tightening. Why is Phil so angry? Dan is so thrown off by the sudden aggressiveness, he barely catches Phil’s snarl, “Why are you even angry at me? It’s your own fault, anyway,” Dan tries not to notice the way Phil’s eyes are blazing with fury, blue irises almost glowing, “You were practically  _ begging  _ to be fucked,” Phil continues, “you should be goddamn thankful that you were with me, or some other bloody bastard could’ve taken advantage of you,” his northern accent bleeds into his words. Phil steps forward, blood pounding in his ears. His fingers are itching, tingling to slap something. 

Dan’s lungs seize at the slight movement, not used to Phil taking the initiative to dive into his personal space. Phil can feel Dan’s breath against his face when he spoke, “That doesn’t even make sense, Phil, and you know that,” Dan pants, face flushed and fingers curling, “Why would I be with someone else in the first place?!”

Phil swallows, trying not to over-analyze the meaning of the simple words. How the hell is he supposed to respond to that? After a breath, he snaps, “Well, what did you expect me to do?!”

“You could’ve finished the job, you dumb fuck, why would you leave me hanging?!” Dan blurts, and then his hands are involuntarily thrusting out before him, across Phil’s broad chest, and he’s shoving Phil backwards. Phil stumbles back a few steps, eyes widening, disbelief coloring his features momentarily, but he’s immediately closing the distance, crowding into Dan. 

“You-you  _ pushed _ me!” Phil seethes, electric blue eyes flaring, a slightly betrayed voice merging with his abashed tone. Their breaths mingle together at the closeness. His heart hammers furiously in his chest. 

Then Phil frowns, processing the statement Dan had uttered.  _ Finish the job? _ Phil gapes at him, chest heaving, face beet-red. Does he mean it in that way? Surely not, “‘Finishing the job’? W-what the hell are you on about, Dan?!?”

Dan groans, the frustrated sound sending a jolt of electricity to run through Phil, “At least it would’ve been better than blue-balling me, you fucking  _ twat _ !”

Phil ignores him, habitually disregarding any hopeful implications. His chest surges at the possibility of Dan liking him back, but he knows Dan is just angry and probably doesn't mean any of it. He just needs something to say for argument’s sake. Granted, he doesn’t expect Dan to be complaining about  _ not _ fucking him. Does he even understand what he’s implying? Phil has a lot of questions, but all that leaves his mouth is: “I can't believe you fucking pushed me, you bastard.” 

It’s the wrong thing to say. Of course Dan would take advantage of a statement like that, eyes sparkling, “Oh, yeah?” He purrs, grabbing Phil by the collar, “and what’re you gonna do about it, hn?” 

Their chests are pressed flush together now, electricity crackling in the small space between them and Phil swears he sees Dan’s amber eyes flick to his lips. Heat bursts in his gut, blood singing again at the possibility that Dan can actually like him back. His fingers curl, and a dark place in his mind tells Phil to claim him, mark him. He doesn't like Dan’s derogatory—almost cocky—tone. It throws him off, rubs him in the wrong way, and he decides that Dan needs to be put in place. He can taste Dan’s hot breath, and Dan’s chocolate eyes are blown wide, and Phil has no control over his body in the next moment.

“Oh, I’ll _show_ you what I’m gonna do about it,” Phil growls against Dan’s mouth, barely catching Dan’s soft gasp. And then he’s jerking Dan’s collar towards him, crashing his mouth against his, their teeth clacking together painfully. Phil swallows the pained sound that erupted from Dan’s mouth, and Dan’s hands fly to Phil’s hair, tugging _hard_. Phil snarls, and then slams Dan against the wall and pinned his hands above his head. Dan groans, head spinning—from the hard impact or from Phil’s demanding lips, he can't tell. Phil’s tongue grazes against Dan’s lower lip, and delves inside, not bothering to wait for permission. 

Dan gasps, the sound music to Phil’s ears, and he tries not to grow pliant in Phil’s arms. Phil groans when Dan feistily bites into his lower lip, and in retaliation, he pulls Dan’s tongue into his mouth and sucks it obscenely, leaving Dan helpless and wriggling in his iron grip. Dan pulls back, head thwacking against the wall, chest heaving, a string of saliva connecting their swollen, breathless lips, and his lidded ochre eyes burn with fury as he struggles momentarily against Phil, who’s still holding his wrists above his head, and Dan’s breath hitches when he feels Phil pin him against the wall with his hips, and he scrunches his eyes, a wrecked groan escaping him when he feels Phil’s hot length pressing into him through the thin fabric of their trousers, heat seeping through the material. 

But Phil won't give him much of a break. As soon as Dan’s mouth is off of him, Phil dives down to trail heated, wet kisses down the long column of his neck, and Dan continues squirming breathlessly against the wall, eyebrows furrowing, “Nooo,  _ nng _ -no…  Oh my-fu- _ uh- _ ck,” he gasps as Phil licks around his faded hickey at the base of his collarbone, tracing the raised skin with his tongue, and sparks flood Dan’s veins, “ _ yes yes  _ oh—fuck—I mm-mean- _ no _ -no no- _ oh _ …  stop… mmph, please.” 

Phil bites into his neck ruthlessly, recoloring the faded bruise, now turning a dark maroon instead of a faded magenta, and Dan practically screams, arching back and tilting his neck, white-hot lightning bolts flashing behind his closed eyes. Flames sear his skin, veins pulsing with electricity, “I… fffucking…” he gasps, eyes rolling to the back of his head, “h- _ ah…  _ hate you…” Dan huffs, as Phil’s continues to bite hot, red marks into his flushed skin.

“Fuck. G-get off me  _ now, _ ” Dan heaves, firmly pushing Phil on his shoulders, finally managing to knock him off.  

Both of them stand a few feet from each other, the sound of heavy breathing filling up the spinning room. Finally, Phil speaks, voice a deep rumble, “Let’s go, we’re getting late for the party.” 

_ Fuck the party, _ Dan’s mind immediately spats. But fortunately, instead of saying that, Dan resorts to biting his own swollen lips, hooded eyes roving up and down Phil’s body. He takes time to admire the way Phil’s black suit fits his body in just the right way, the buttons on his white dress-shirt straining with every heaving breath, and sharp, smooth collarbones peek out teasingly under the rumpled fabric.

“Stop that,” Phil reprimands, a small smirk dancing on his own cherry lips. 

Dan’s face warms, and he glanced at the ground, shuffling his feet, and murmured a soft, “S-sorry,”  _ daddy, _ his brain unhelpfully adds, and Dan’s face blooms a darker rose. Damn, caught red-handed.

Then Phil’s pale hands are in his line of vision, experienced hands working over Dan’s tie. Dan’s breath halts in his lungs, and he flicks his eyes back up to meet Phil’s, an unspoken question lingering in the air between them, aside from the electric sizzle that seems to fizz around them.

“You’re tie, it’s a little lopsided,” Phil’s deep voice rushes to explain. 

“Right…” Dan mumbles, and the air is charged and loaded with some kind of incomprehensible electricity, and it suddenly feels heavy and suffocating and he can feel gooseflesh break out on his tingling skin, and Dan finds himself holding his breath in anticipation—of what, he doesn't know. But then he gasps as Phil smooths a hand over his shirt, his long fingers brushing agonizingly over Dan’s chest, one sly appendage unknowingly catching on a pectoral, and a shuddering breath breaks through Dan’s breathless mouth, “ _ Phil,” _ he breathes, practically falling into Phil’s sturdy body, and his hands fly up to grasp Phil’s shoulders.

“ _ Dan,” _ Phil breaths back in return as their damp foreheads pressed together. They’re breathing in each other's air now, warm breaths mingling together, and Phil’s eyes are so  _ blue _ . They’re so close that Dan could see flecks of royal gold and jade green swimming within the azure sea, and he can see the silhouette of his own long lashes in the reflection of the glazed orbs. Dan’s throat clamps, word’s stuck in his ribcage, along with his pounding heart. 

And then the soft jingle of Phil’s ringtone slits through the layer of tension, and they immediately jolt apart, hearts thrumming inside tight chests. 

Phil grimaces, “That’ll be the cab,” slight frown marring his striking features. 

Dan swallows and nods jerkily—hopefully the ride won't be as agonizing as the past week—and follows Phil down the stairs, into the wet, pale, moon-lit street.

***

They enter the cab, closing the doors with a soft  _ thud.  _ After Phil tells the driver PJ’s address, they fall silent, trying to look like they aren’t drowning in a sea of suffocating sexual tension. Phil huffs, turning to stare silently out the window, ignoring the lingering heat coursing through his blood and the warm presence of Dan. He’s still quite angry at Dan for ridiculously blaming him. How is it  _ his _ fault? He can't understand Dan’s arbitrary reasoning. And their  _ kiss _ . Is it even allowed to be called that? His lips are still tingling from the brief contact, and he unconsciously licks them. He didn’t expect  _ that _ to happen, but he realizes that he was probably sexually deprived, and Dan wasn’t really making it easier for him; rosy cheeks, fiery obsidian eyes, heated breaths, and he was so  _ close _ to him, diving into his personal space, as usual. But there was something different about it today. He was angry at him, flushed and frustrated, breaths fractured, and Phil just  _ snapped _ ; he couldn’t help it. Dan had also been teasing him the whole time after  _ the incident _ , though, so it was his breaking point when he felt his broad chest against his own, rising up and down along with his. He was so close that he could feel his heart beating out of his chest, and he just  _ had _ to have another taste of those wicked lips and bite the golden skin of his sensitive neck again.

Belatedly, Phil recognizes that Dan’s neck is now marked up with more hickeys. Phil gasps and speaks in a hushed whisper, “Dan.”

“What,” Dan responds in a cold, gruff voice—like the surroundings he’s currently glaring at. 

“I-I was just thinking about your… neck,” he hesitates.

“What about it, Phil,” he grumbles warily.

“Well… people might ask.” The car seems to shrink, and Phil’s stomach clenches at the thought of people noticing Dan’s extremely prominent dark bruises, a cold feeling creeping into his bones.

“What the fuck do you mea- Oh.  _ Oh.” _ He unconsciously reaches up to run his hands over the bruised skin, and Phil can almost taste the battered skin under his tongue.

Phil suppresses a shiver, muttering a soft, “Yeah…”

There’s a tense hitch in the conversation, and then Dan sighs, “‘Fuckssake, Phil. See what mess you’ve got us into, now?”

“S’not my fault you’re so freaking tantalizing as f—”

“Oh, so it’s  _ my  _ fucking fault now?!” 

“No! I- fuck. You know what, forget it.”

Dan shrugs, aloof, and continues to burn a hole in his window. The small gesture causes Phil to grind his teeth together, jaw twitching, and he takes a  sharp intake of breath, shoving back to stare out of his own window. It’s deadly quiet for the rest of the ride.

***

There are more people at PJ’s party than usual. They split ways as soon as they enter the house, of course. If anyone notices they aren't joined at the hip like usual, no one comments on it. But of course everyone has noticed. How can they not? Dan and Phil, not conjoined at the hip? Is the universe imploding? Dan and Phil would learn of the party’s keen eyes later, though, during a rather risqué game of truth or dare. 

~

To say that Dan was angry would be an understatement. Yes, he’s angry. At Phil? Most definitely—but not entirely. In fact, he feels bad for snapping at Phil in the cab because he knows that Phil doesn't deserve that. But he can't help it. After he caught up with the whirlwind of emotions that followed their heated make-out session, he had time to reflect on his behavior in the video. Initially, he had felt exposed and embarrassed for being so bloody obvious in that video, because it was exactly that: exposing. He’s so goddamn desperate and  _ needy _ . He felt naked and vulnerable and lashed out at Phil, and Phil has every right to lash back. So yes, Dan is angry—angry at himself. 

But what’s done is done. Like a piece of crumpled paper that couldn’t be folded perfectly flat again. He won't worry too much about his own actions in the video. Because  _ goddamn  _ he really did give Phil a hard time, in all aspects. More importantly, he wants to focus on what the video  _ implied _ . And that was where his anger towards Phil comes from. Because that night, he presented himself to Phil, ready and waiting and  _ wanting _ —and what did Phil do? Absolutely fucking nothing. It’s straight up denial, and it  _ hurt _ , right in the pit of his heart. Granted, he understands that it’s wrong to take advantage of someone when they’re drunk. But Dan didn’t have a drop of alcohol in his body today, and he certainly isn't planning on drinking any tonight either, after watching his behavior in that damned video. But today he told Phil that he desired him, albeit subtly. He remembers saying something like ‘finishing the job,’ and Phil responded, ‘what the hell are you on about?’ Is Phil stupid? Is that not an open invitation? Dan knows Phil is playing dumb. He has to be. What else would that mean, goddamnit. Fucking Phil Lester. 

“I just don’t understand, Peej, what the hell?” Dan exclaims, finally finishing his drawn-out rant. PJ frowns at Dan, and his green eyes are glimmering with what Dan hopes is contemplation instead of glazed drunkenness.  

“Dan,” PJ says, clapping a hand over Dan’s shoulder, a hazy smile wafting over his flushed face, “You need ‘ta go an’ talk to ‘im, mateyy,” his faux serious speech is interrupted by a hiccup, “H-he loves yer ass—fucking cute ass at that,” he adds on with a little wink. Although it looks more like a regular blink than a proper wink. Dan exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

Okay, so maybe PJ isn't as sober as Dan initially thought, but he’s the only person Dan can express these feelings to right now. Only PJ knows about this particular dilemma with Phil. 

But he can't help but feel that PJ is right. He shouldn’t be sitting here bothering PJ at his birthday party. PJ should have the freedom to enjoy his birthday and it isn't the time to bombard his own problems onto the birthday boy and drag him down with them. He needs to go find Phil and sort this shit out on his own. 

~

Phil still can't understand why Dan is so angry. How can someone get angry at another for  _ not _ taking advantage of them? Phil sighs. He wouldn’t let their argument ruin the mood. It’s PJ’s birthday party and he’s here to have fun, goddamnit—with Dan or without Dan. His heart pangs at the words  _ without Dan _ , but he quickly forces any deceptive emotions away. Yes, Phil told Dan not to drink today, but that doesn't mean that  _ he _ can't. Besides, the bastard needs a taste of his own medicine, Phil thinks bitterly, blood boiling at Dan’s ridiculous temper. 

So that’s how he gets shit-faced at the mini-bar, the bubbling feeling of alcohol settling in his body, warm and welcoming like honey, and everything is slightly fuzzy and gleaming and golden. He doesn't know how long he’s sitting there at the bar, silently watching the guests laugh loudly and chattering continuously. And then Dan is blearily swimming into his vision in all his gorgeous glory: brown curls, rosy lips, chocolate orbs. A small, nagging voice in Phil’s head tells him that he’s supposed to be angry at Dan, but his muddled, lust-fogged brain can't pinpoint exactly why.

“Danny… S’thatchu?” He slurs.

“Fuck, Phil, how much have you had?” Concern swims inside the ochre pools, and he feels Dan’s large, steady hands holding him steady, warmth seeping through the shoulders of his suit. He shivers subtlety at the contact. 

“Dannn…” Phil sighs, and Dan is suddenly engulfed in lanky arms, and his breathing stills in his throat. Phil ducks his head into Dan’s sensitive neck, “mmished chu,” He mumbles, lips brushing ever-so-slightly against his bruised collarbone.  

Dan gasps, sparks flying through his blood, heat rushing to his face, “Ph-Phil.” He grips his shoulders harder, hoping that no one is looking at them right now. 

“P-please don’ leaf me ‘gain,” Phil hiccups, lips grazing across his collarbone with every word, and Dan’s breath hitches. And then Dan feels it: the warm, wet,  _ familiar  _ feeling of Phil’s molten tongue on him, wild and hot like lava. His veins pulse, knees weakening, flames dancing in his gut. Dan suppresses his moan and practically throws Phil off of him. But he still holds on loosely to Phil’s shoulders, preventing the giggling drunk from completely toppling over. Dan pants heavily, swallowing hard, staring at the ground, and closes his eyes, trying to calm down the roaring in his ears, the fluttering of his heart, and his heated cheeks. Then Dan glances back up at Phil. It’s the wrong thing to do. Phil’s eyes are glittering, and he’s so close that he can once again see sparkles of gold and green swimming in the darkened cerulean pools, tinged with desire. Time suspends around them, the air stills, the loud chatter warps into a distorted dull murmuring. The same treacherous tongue darts out, and Dan feels the irrational urge to press his mouth against it again. The brief, heated moment in their home clearly hasn’t been enough to satiate their thirst, especially since he can feel Phil leaning in, eyes lidded, hot breath warm against his own face, almost tasting the poignant alcohol in his breath. Dan’s brain is sluggish, a lazy warmth heating his insides, and he clutches Phil’s shoulders, breath hitching when their lips finally manage to graze against each other. 

Then Tyler’s obnoxiously loud voice is shattering the moment,  “Who’s ready for some fucking truth or dare?!” The world swims back into Dan’s vision, exploding in a cacophony of excessively bright colors, and the murmuring voices are splattered back to their original, loud chatter.

They immediately spring apart, Dan avoiding the betrayed look in Phil’s eyes, and trying to ignore his prickling lips and palpitating heart. Glancing up at the commotion, he catches Tyler’s gaze, and Dan swears he sees a glint of mischief flicker in the sparkling blue eyes. He sees Tyler’s grin stretch wider as it flicks between him and Phil, and he almost sees the red devil horns poking out of his head. 

Well, shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6: Truth or Dare  
> 


	6. Truth or Dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahem. yes hello hi.  
> IM SORRY OK I HAD THIS HORRIBLE WRITERS BLOCK ANd-- ok that doesn't matter.  
> im bacc and oh my god im so sorry idk what i wrote this is a messssss. anyway.  
> oh i so decided to make this whole fic in present tense so sorry if there's any errors. it just flowed better. a LOT better.  
> the characters might be a little ooc I don't really watch other youtubers that much. (#phan trash) soo tag urself I'm Tyler. jk I'm probably a mix. Also I know Jack’s (jacksepticeye) real name is Sean but I'm going to refer to him as Jack. Disclaimer: I know some of these people already have girlfriends (cough, Jack, Mark, Felix), but I needed them for plot purposes ok. I included some Jaspar, Septiplier, Troyler, and maybe more? Also this chapter was originally a monstrosity of 10k+ words BUT i split it up into two chapters, so you should be getting an earlier update for ch7 :D  
> so now this chapter is only 6k+  
> a little longer than usual, i know but the next one will be shorter (unless i combine that one with ch8 idk we'll seeeeeeeeEE help)  
> As always, thank you for the wonderful comments and kudos!!! they make my day :)  
> enjoy~  
> (and sorry in advance cuz seriously wth did i just write).

Dan tries to ignore the cold-blooded apprehension curling in his gut. How long has it  been since he’s played truth or dare? They’ve never had enough friends to play it with; it’s always just Dan and Phil. But here he is, sitting in a drunken circle, probably the most sober of everyone huddled in their cult.

Not for long.

He can practically smell the jittery nerves permeating in the air, and there’s a low, underlying buzz of droning chatter. A perfect cocktail of trickling anxiety, pungent sweat, cheap cologne, and the heady scent of beer. 

Dan’s knee seems to have a mind of its own though, wiggling up and down constantly, and he finds himself gnawing harshly on his lower lip, which glows yellow before fading back into color. They’re sitting cross-legged, and Phil’s knee  brushes against his own every few seconds, a comforting touch that barely alleviates the churning in his stomach, and his skin fizzles in a mixture of excitement and trepidation. But then Phil’s hand is smoothing over the jiggling knee, “Don’t worry, Danny. We’ve got this,” he whispers conspiratorially, squeezing Dan’s knee and leaning against his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed in determination. A soft smile helplessly rises to Dan’s face, and he has to stop himself from reminding Phil that this isn't your normal game; they aren't on the same team. This is fucking truth or dare—and if he’s heard anything about Tyler’s truth or dares, it’s that they end with someone getting fucked. Both figuratively and literally.  

Tyler—speak of the devil—clears his throat, a bright smile playing over his features, “Alright, y’all,” he slams a bottle of corona—courtesy of PJ—on the carpeted floor, followed by a hollow  _ thump _ , “We all know the rules, this spins,” he swings the bottle, “and whoever it points to has to decide the horrible fate of the others!” He clasps his hands together, eyes twinkling with glee. There’s a collective groan from the audience, but the bottle is already spinning. Everyone watches with bated breath as it slows to a stop, finally landing on PJ. 

“Ooh,” PJ muses, tilting his head to the side, “Tyler,” PJ calls, “truth or dare?” And Dan thinks he hears someone whisper,  _ ha! Payback’s a bitch _ , but Tyler doesn't seem to hear it.

“Oh, dear me,” Tyler murmurs good-naturedly, as he dramatically places a hand over his heart and bats his eyelashes. He props a single finger on his lower lip and hums, “Well, I guess that’s fair…  um—truth!”

PJ gives him a shit-eating grin, and takes a sip of his beer, “Do you read fanfiction?” There’s a soft murmur of speculation echoing around the circle. 

Tyler scoffs, an eyebrow raising, and he thrusts his hand sassily into the air, “Of  _ course  _ I do, is that even a questio—”

“No,” PJ interjects, his olive orbs boring into Tyler’s baby blue ones, “I mean  _ phan _ fiction, like Dan-and-Phil-fanfiction.” Dan freezes next to Phil and his heart skips a beat as Phil quirks an eyebrow at him, repeating the question with his intent cerulean orbs. Dan wants to say no. But a memory involuntary floods his mind. It’s the memory of when he accidentally—it was completely intentional, but Dan would never admit it—stumbled across the dark, hellish corner of Tumblr, and he remembers the hot, stuffy summer night, his hand working vigorously in his boxers, loud groans muffled into his pillow, sweaty hands scrabbling over his keyboard. 

Fuck. Phil is still searching Dan’s face with an intent curiosity, and Dan shrugs in response—because his heart is battering in his throat and can't trust himself to talk—and he hopes his face isn't as hot as it feels. Ah, sweet ambiguity. Before he can ask Phil back in return, however, Tyler interrupts their small exchange. 

“Oh, um,” Tyler blanches as he peeks in their direction, “I mean, the phandom has a  _ wonderful _ collection of talented writers, so yeah, ‘course I do,” then he quickly adds, “Sorry, Dan, Phil,” but the rest of his apology is engulfed by the crowd’s noise. 

It isn't a surprise to Dan, but nonetheless, the circle erupts into teasing hoots, and Tyler rushes to speak, panicked hollering rising above the crowd’s tittering, “No! I mean! Not like  _ smut _ , or anything, but…” his words are drowned by the uproar, however, and his already flushed face tinges a deeper red, and he knows he isn't making his case convincing in the least.

“Yeah,  _ totally  _ not smut,” Joe Sugg drawls, sitting a few people to the right of Dan. Dan’s blush darkens, and he tries to shove the damned, replaying memory to the back of his mind. 

“Oh fuck you too then, Joe,” Tyler scoffs playfully, as he swings the bottle, his face still glowing red. But his scowling face lights up in a smile as the bottle aims at Joe, “truth or dare, honey? Choose wisely,” he sing-songs, fingertips meeting together and his eyebrows raise deviously. Although, he doesn't look as evil as he sounds as his face resembles the complexion of a tomato. 

“Shit,” Joe mutters under his breath, shifting to lean on his hand. He sighs, “Oh, fuck it—dare.”

Tyler punches a fist in the air, face radiating with excitement, “Yes!” 

Joe buries his head in his hands and groans in defeat. Wrong choice. Tyler claps his hands together, “Seven minutes in heaven! With… hmm” His eyes twinkle, and then narrow as they trace around the circle, and Dan’s chest lurches when they briefly connect with his own. It’s suddenly deathly quiet. The audience hangs on the cusp of his next word. Tyler gasps, “Caspar!” His hands press together. 

The circle jeers with delight, a few clapping Caspar on his back. And Dan isn't the most skilled in lip-reading, but he’s sure that Caspar whines, “Oh, come on,” as he runs a hand through his blonde locks. 

Joe has stumbled to his feet, shoulders sagging in defeat. He asks PJ where his closet is, a bottle of beer dangling loosely from his hand. PJ, giggling the whole way there, directs Joe and Caspar to a nearby cupboard. Before he clonks the door closed, however, Joe pops a hand out, fingers curling around its edge, “Start the time first,” he pins PJ with an serious look. 

But Tyler is already setting a timer, hands clutching his smart phone, tapping away, “Starts… now!” He pockets his phone, “have fun, boys,” He winks. 

Joe rolls his eyes and clicks the door closed, but not before Caspar retorts, “in your dreams!” It’s silent for a few beats, everyone mutually wondering if they can hear any noises coming from the closet. 

Then everything gets slightly blurry since they’re collectively dared to drink a shot of tequila. Dan doesn't even know or care if it’s possible to dare a whole crowd of people, but it happens. He doesn’t even remember who dared it. All he remembers is that it spiraled downhill from there; with more liquid courage in their systems, it becomes more scandalous:

“PJ! You, Chris, make out. For at least thirty seconds.”

“Are you more of a masochist or a sadist?”

“What did you dream about in your most recent wet dream?”

“Jack, lick Mark’s ear.”

“Felix, give them a strip-tease.”

“What is your guilty pleasure?”

“Tyler, unzip Connor’s jeans… with your mouth.”

“Fuck, marry, kill—Joey, Mark, Chris.”

“Have you ever had sex on a plane?”

“What is your worst kink?”

“Troye, sit on Tyler’s lap.”

“What’s your favorite body part—and by favorite, I mean most sensitive—aside from your privates, ‘course,” Caspar says, blue eyes inquisitive. 

“Um,” Dan squeaks, and he wonders if someone’s face can fall off and melt away from overheating. Because it sure feels like his face is about to right now. He unconsciously tugs at the frayed strands on the carpet, twisting the soft material in his fingertips, trying to calm the racing of his heart. He already knows the answer, but for some reason he’s elongating his response, “probably,” he drawls, “I mean, my neck’s pretty sensitive, but I’m not sure if it’s the most? Collarbones too, but I guess that’s kinda the same general area, right,” and he closes his eyes as he realizes he’s fucking rambling. Again. Why can’t he just spit it out? He steels himself, “Neck.”

The audience  _ ooh _ -s at his confession, which certainly doesn't help the coloring in his cheeks. And Phil’s blatant, fervent staring certainly isn't helping either, and he knows he’s burning all the way to the tips of his ears as butterflies rage a war in his stomach. He can feel every bruise on his neck tingle as Phil’s traces them with dark, knowing eyes, and he has to suppress a shudder. 

“Interesting,” Felix muses, breaking the moment, an odd glitter in his own sky-blue eyes. Shit. He hopes the information isn’t going to get him into some sort of shithole. 

~

Tyler’s eyes are glowing with mischievousness, “I’m sure we’ve all been… rather curious about this…” a small giggle breaks his speech and a  cunning grin tugs at his mouth , “sorry, but I just  _ had _ to ask… ever since they walked through that door together—who could miss it?” 

Dan holds his breath. He certainly isn't talking about him and Phil, is he? There’s probably another duo sitting here somewhere—maybe Alfie and Zoe. But to further examination, Dan realizes Alfie and Zoella are nowhere to be found. He squints, looking blearily at the swimming faces. Nope, nowhere. Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen them for the last three hours. Upon further inspection, he realizes that Mark is here. Where did Mark even come from, in all his bronze-skinned, muscled glory? He probably came with Jack. In more ways than one. 

Before he can berate his wayward thoughts, Tyler is asking, “Anyway, Dan, truth or—”  

“Truth,” he splutters, immediately cursing at himself, heart stuttering to an alarming speed. He said that way too fast. 

“Oh, you’re no fun,” Tyler mutters as he purses his lips. There are a few disappointed hushes of agreement, and Dan doesn't want to analyze what that means at the moment. Well. It could've gone a lot worse if he chose a dare. It could've been a strip tease, or a lick to his neck, or a kiss, or  _ worse _ —he needs to stop thinking about what it could've been, because he chose truth and he isn't going to sit there with a hard-on.

Dan meets Tyler’s clear blue eyes, silently pleading for him to go easy on him. He doesn't even realize that Phil is rubbing soothing circles into the skin of the back of his hand. Tyler smirks even furthur, seeming to notice the gesture, “Care to explain those hickeys on your neck?” Tyler purrs, eyeing Dan’s neck without shame. 

Dan’s breath hitches, and his hands are suddenly clammy in Phil’s grasp. Oh, right. Those. He peeks at Phil, and when their eyes met, Phil gives his hand a little squeeze, and Dan knows what he has to say, “What’s there to explain?” Dan challenges, marveling at his ability to keep his voice from shaking. Although he probably doesn't look as challenging as he wants as his face is burning crimson and his lungs have stopped functioning.

Tyler raises his eyebrows skeptically, “Y’know, like, whodunnit,” and there are a few chuckles at the wording.

“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” Dan peeps as his face blooms darker; he really doesn't want to spell this out.

“C’mon, Dan, a truth’s a truth—and you didn’t choose dare,” Tyler’s voice is reasonable, with a hint of a warning, but his face is morphed into a knowing, shit-eating grin, and the crowd cheers in agreement.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Dan mutters, rolling his eyes, face hot, and he locks eyes with Phil once more. Phil’s cerulean orbs twinkle, and he can see the jaded green and silken gold weaving inside the azure color, and he momentarily wonders if Phil is  _ real _ . He is, of course; he’s still pressing his warm, pale hand into Dan’s damp skin, a soothing gesture that warms his blood. It’s probably the reason he isn't losing his sanity right now and having a freaking panic attack. 

“Dan,” Tyler coaxes. Damn him, the knowing little shit. 

“ItwasPhil,” he spits, eyes closing and heart pounding in his chest, and he grips Phil’s hand harder. 

“Knew it!” Tyler trills, like he’s caught Dan red-handed, and the audience woofs loudly. 

All Dan can think is: was it really that hard to guess?

~

The game continues, and Dan finds he’s genuinely enjoying the evening, despite the few bumps along the road. But that’s to be expected, and honestly, it could’ve gone a lot worse. He’s clearly gotten lucky. 

Or at least that’s what he thinks. Because in one moment, he’s leaning comfortably against Phil, giggling softly into his shoulder, and in the next moment, he's being tied to a chair, with Phil practically grinding down on him and leaving him hard and groaning and fucking wanton all over again, and the audience is screaming with fucking delight and in fucking conclusion, he isn't fucking ready.   
It’s all fine and dandy until Felix happens. Yes, Felix: a singular entity. His turn kicks off a series of more damned turns revolving around Dan and Phil. Dan likes to refer to it as ‘a series of possibly fortunate events.’ He doesn't know what to think of it. 

The bottle points towards Felix. It’s silent for a few tense beats, and then Felix clears his throat, “Alright, so looks like this is a fricken... free-for-all for hard core shippers. Damn, now I know why it's so dreaded,” he says as he shifts forwards and glances at Dan, causing Dan’s heart to stop entirely. Dan has heard along the grape vine that Felix supports phan, and Jack is currently grinning at them smugly from beside Felix, blue eyes sparkling with sabotage. 

Shit. 

Dan sits rigidly, his heart now jack-hammering in his chest. Maybe if he doesn't move, they’ll forget he’s even here. He focuses on a small piece of frilling on the carpet once more, determined to not meet anyone’s preying eyes, hands plucking at the  worn  fabric of the floor.

After what seems like forever, Felix finally declares, “Phil,” and Dan’s head jerks up, and he nearly gets whiplash. Okay, maybe not whiplash, but he’s a dramatic person. He chants a mantra in his head: please don't say it, please don’t say it, please please please, save me from this hel—“truth or dare?” 

“Dare,” Phil responds without a moment’s hesitation. Dan wants to jump over and tackle Phil to the ground—and not in a sexual way—because does he know what he’s signing up to?! Dan wants to yell, “For fuck’s sake,  _ Phil! _ Think before you speak, you utter buffoon.” Dan wants to be invisible. Dan wants to evaporate. Dan wants to facepalm. Dan wants to go home. Dan wants a lot of things, but he just sits there, crouching in on himself, sitting perfectly still, hoping that Felix isn't paying any attention to him. But of course he is. A moment later, Felix’s gaze is dragging agonizingly over to Dan’s petrified form, and for a fleeting, heart-sur ging moment, his face flashes momentarily with an apologetic look, before reverting back to a wide, cheshire-cat grin.

“Dare, huh,” Felix muses, a finger smoothing contemplatively over his stubble, “you sure about that?” 

Phil frowns, “Yes,” like he’s wondering if Felix is deaf. For fuck’s sake, Phil. Dan resists face palming, even though his palm is tingling. 

And then Felix speaks the words that starts their tumultuous doom, “I dare you to give... Dan…”

Dan holds his breath, and it feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest in a horrifically graphic explosion, and he’s surprised when he realizes he actually  _ wants _ it to happen, so that he doesn't have to go through with the dare. 

Felix continues, “a lap dance.” 

Shit. 

Dan’s breath hitches, fingers tensing on his rigid knee, fingertips turning bright yellow, and his body practically pulses in anticipation. Or maybe that’s just his heart. 

The audience erupts in excited murmuring, and they rise to their feet, shuffling around to set up, and a chaotic energy filters through the air:

“Where’s the chair? Get the damn chair,” Joey Graceffa flails his hands.

“No, Caspar, that chair won’t do,” Tyler tuts as Caspar drags in a plastic kitchen chair, “we need a fancy one, and Daniel needs to be able to fit in it. He’s one big boy, y’know,” he casts a look in Dan’s direction and flashes a wink. Dan rolls his eyes, cheeks heating because goddamnit, Tyler. Phil barks out a laugh next to him, and Dan has to stop himself from screaming, “How the fuck are you this fucking calm; you can’t even dance, Lester.” And he blinks at his thoughts, relief slowly filtering through his chest, flickering into his bones. He’s saved! Phil can’t dance. He sighs heavily, eyes closing, and he feels his humming-bird of a heart-rate calm against his ribcage. 

PJ and Chris suddenly enter, slightly breathless, balancing a mahogany wooden chair between them. They drag it into the center of the room, and it makes a solid  _ thunk _ sound when they set it down. Tyler claps his hands together, “Perfect!” His blue eyes sparkle, and Troye nods in agreement, his own hands clasped together, a bright smile lighting up his forest eyes.

Then, suddenly the floor is shaking with deafening bass that seems to swallow the hectic commotion, filling up all noise, and the plastic cups and beer cans resting on the floor jump in the air, and everyone claps their hands over their ears, glaring at the wincing boys near the stereo. Dan scrunches his eyes and it momentarily feels like his eardrums are bleeding, but luckily Jack and Felix manage to get it back to an acceptable volume and everyone is slightly starry-eyed and woozy—mostly from the alcohol, but they blame it on the stereo, of course—and Dan notices his beer has tipped over and spilled onto the carpet. Damn, were the vibrations that strong? He cringes, now he has to clean that up, goddamnit. 

“Sorry, guys!” Jack calls out sheepishly, “Won’t happen ‘gain,” he promises, and he turns back to flip through his phone, shrinking with shame as Mark pats his pack.

“Don't we need a be-elt?” Shane slurs as he almost trips over an empty beer bottle. 

Connor gasps dramatically and presses a hand to his chest, “Oh my gosh,  _ yes _ .” 

“Don't look at me, you’re not using my belt,” Joe shrugs, hands defensively hovering in front of him.

“Come on, Joe, do it for the quest of love!  _ Love! _ ” Tyler gushes, shaking Joe by the shoulders, and it makes quite an odd sight because of their height difference. 

“All’s fair in love and war,” Caspar murmurs as he slings an arm over Joe’s shoulder. 

“Well, why don't  _ you _ do it then, if you’re so sure,” Joe rolls his eyes. 

Caspar gapes at him in mock horror, “Joe,” an unheard  _ you’re supposed to be on my side _ , echoes in his accused tone. 

“Why don't we just use Dan’s belt? He probably won't need it by the end of the night, anyway,” Connor suggests, a small smirk tugging at his lips. There’s a collective chuckle and murmurs of agreement. 

“Hm true,” Tyler drawls contemplatively, “but his belt isn't really effective, is it?” 

“That belt is lower than my self-esteem,” Connor jokes, which prompts a few giggles.

“Hey, my belt is pretty useless too, though,” Caspar tries.

“Shut up, Caspar we’re using your belt,” Joe says, folding his arms. 

“But Dan’s belt is gonna come off anyway!” 

“We don't know that for sure.” 

“Oh, trust me,” Tyler cuts in, “we know that for sure.”

“Damn,” Connor mutters under his breath. 

“Indeed.”

There’s a few coughs as they process what Dan and Phil are really in for. How crazy can it get? Tyler leaves no room for argument, however, “Ok, Caspar, your belt it is,” he gingerly pats him on the shoulder. 

Caspar lets out a defeated sigh as he unbuckles, “Wasn't doing its job, anyway, goddamnit.” 

“Woah woah woah, what's going on here? A lap dance, not a strip tease from Caspar,” Felix declares as he walks into their conversation. 

“We  _ know _ , we need a belt,” Caspar huffs. 

“For what?” 

It’s silent for a few beats, because no one can figure out an acceptable reason. That is, until Joey giggles, twirling a painted fingernail, “‘Cuz, we know Danny, y’know... he likes being tied up.”

“I do not! _ ” _ Dan squawks indignantly, face glowing a dark peony, and he has to restrain himself from pettily stomping his foot. Even though he’s one of the tallest ones there, he’s not intimidating at all; his small shriek falls on deaf ears.

Felix’s mouth forms an o, and his eyebrows raise in understanding, “Oh, right, kinky one.” 

Connor plants his hands on his own hips, “Yup,” he confirms, popping the p sound.

“Goddamnit!” Dan blurts frustratedly, fingers clenching. But who is he kidding, he  _ is _ a kinky shit. Nonetheless, he still turns to Phil to make his point clear, “Phil, tell them I'm not kin—Phil?” He gawks comically at the location where Phil is supposed to be, or where Phil  _ used  _ to be. Because Phil isn't there. He’s gone, “Phil?” 

Caspar’s gasp answers his call as Phil seemingly appears in thin air next to him, and he swiftly grabs his belt from him. It's silent as Phil inspects it with calculated eyes. 

“Phil, you’ve been awfully quiet this evening,” Joe observes studiously. 

“He does,” Phil states matter-of-factly. 

“He does?” Shane and Joey echo.

“He does what,” Felix  repeats dumbly. 

Phil looks directly in Dan’s questioning eyes, his blue ones piercing into them, and there goes Dan’s heart, speeding up in his chest again. And then Phil’s deep voice is speaking again, “He  _ does _ like being tied up,” he rumbles as he twists the flimsy belt in his experienced hands, the gesture familiar and practiced.

Fuck. 

Tyler gasps with amused horror, popping a hand over his mouth, “Phil!” He giggles, thwacking Phil lightly on his bicep, and Dan buries his beetroot face into his hands as he feels his soul leave his body. 

“Ouch, exposed, bro,” Felix comments, his voice filled with pity, but his eyes sparkle teasingly, and Troye lets out a low whistle of agreement. 

“See, toldja!” Shane cheers, voice bubbling with elation, as he throws his fists into the air like a five-year-old who wins a petty bet. 

Dan huddles into himself, a flush spreading down his neck, and he wants to disintegrate into the floor and fizz into nothingness more than ever before. How many drinks did Phil have?! Is Phil still angry at him? It feels like their little scuffle in the apartment happened weeks ago. 

But he’s very literally pulled out of his thoughts as Tyler’s dainty hands hoist him up, “Come on, hun’, up on your feet.”

Dan wants to resist, but he allows himself to get dragged lifelessly to the chair, and his heart thuds in his chest the whole way there. Hands push him down onto the plush cushioning, which sinks down as he shifts into a comfy position. At least it’s a decent chair. But before he can further jump down a hole of self-pity, hands are grabbing his arms, pinning them behind his back  unceremoniously, around the immaculate wooden designs .

“What? You guys weren’t joking?!” He blurts, words jumbled, and he tenses up, stomach churning. 

He hears a scoff, “‘Course not! Why would we joke about this?” 

“Hey, no, that’s not fair,” He protests weakly, face florid, “that’s a double dare.”

There’s a beat of silence, and his heart surges when the pressure on his wrists leave. Saved. 

Tyler winks, “For now.”

Dan jerks his head towards him in shock. Can Tyler read his mind? Or maybe he said it out loud. Before he can analyze the strange enigma, the crowd shifts back into a huddle and Phil is standing in front of him with dark eyes, radiating confidence, and he’s removing his suit jacket right before Dan’s wide eyes. 

Dan’s mouth parts as he watches it slip off Phil’s wide shoulders, crumpling to the floor, forgotten. He feels something akin to sympathy for poor article of clothing because he realizes he would be in similar state—a melted heap of a tangled  mess —if he were standing. And suddenly he’s grateful he's sitting in a chair. Phil reaches up with nimble fingers to unclasp the top two buttons of his shirt, and Dan’s breath hitches—he didn’t ask for a goddamn strip tease. He wants to tear his eyes away, but he finds that he can’t look away; his eyes naturally glue to Phil as the ivory skin peeks out through the sheer, white material, and he can catch the slightest hint of the sprinkling of hair on Phil’s chest. And he can’t help but notice how Phil’s shirt hugs him so nicely. Sure, he’s not the most muscular man on the planet, but he’s  _ fit _ . His shoulders are broad and Dan can catch the slightest ripple of his biceps beneath the gloriously tight shirt. Dan’s breathing is already increased and he feels his heart pounding in his chest. He wills himself to calm down as he closes his eyes and takes a sharp intake of breath. Nothing has happened yet. Phil can’t dance. Phil can’t dance at all. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. Everything’s fine. He’s fine. But he knows what he really is. 

He’s fucked.

Phil is towering over Dan and suddenly he’s so close, and the  _ music _ . He doesn’t register when it turns on because he already knows he’s gone, but he can feel the vibrations of the bass all the way to his curled toes. It’s something heady and intoxicating, and he’s already high on it as it rushes through his veins like adrenaline.

He can only see Phil. He catches a few murmurs from the circle now and then—distant and insignificant—and it only spikes his arousal even more. Damn, he never pegged himself to be an exhibitionist. Well, learn something new every day. But his thoughts are obliterated because— _ what in the hell is Phil doing? _

Phil is before him, unraveling with those eyes him from head to toe. He practically melts in the damned chair—he can never cope with those eyes. It’s the perfect concoction for a helpless Dan.  Phil hasn’t even started  _ dancing _ . Phil can’t even dance when he’s sober; how will he dance if he’s drunk?

Sure, Dan’s seen drunken-style martial arts—drunken boxing—in a couple animes, but he could never understand how it works. How does being drunk enhance a person’s ability to fight? Shouldn’t it do the opposite? 

Because he knows Phil can’t dance. But when he’s drunk? He’s not so sure anymore.

He looks up at Phil from beneath his eyelashes, and he can tell the angle gives him the perfect doe-eyed gaze as Phil’s body grows rigid, before he breaks out into swift, fluid movements. He’s swimming in the music, smooth and dominating, and then turns around, and his ass is hovering dangerously close to Dan’s face for a split-second. For a moment, Dan thinks it would be better to be tied up because he doesn't know what to do with his trembling hands, and he finds himself gripping the ends of his chair so hard that the material sinks between his long fingers, and he wants to reach out and just  _ grab _ . Before he can berate his thoughts, Phil flips around, a smirk playing at his  tempting  lips as he clutches his belt, and Dan feels his heart spluttering in sync with the beat of the music, and he belatedly notices he’s been holding his breath. He exhales shakily, but he doesn't have much time to recover because Phil won’t give him a fucking break. 

His pale hand glides up Dan’s arm, skimming around his shoulder, and tingles break out everywhere along the touched skin. The long fingers trace around the collar, dipping inside to feel the swell of his collarbone, and Dan gasps audibly before snapping his mouth shut and pinkening. Shit. He hopes no one heard that. But he soon figures out he’s worrying for nothing because it seems it's about to get a lot worse.

Phil is unbuttoning Dan’s jacket, and the last button naturally rests right over Dan’s crotch. Dan’s breathing shifts again, and gets heavier with every button that Phil pops, and he’s already at the last button. He clenches his teeth as he tries to prevent a moan from breaking through. Phil’s hand is brushing against it, unclasping the damned button deliberately slowly. Dan’s eyes scrunch close and he inhales a sharp breath, and he can hear the music thrumming in his ears; he can practically feel the sound waves pulsing around him, and he’s sure that’s not the only thing that’s going to be pulsing. He snaps his eyes back open when he feels Phil brush against his length once more, and Phil is looking down at him smugly with glimmering cerulean eyes and—oh he’s doing this on purpose. Dan feels his heart surge in his chest as he realizes how many ways this can go horribly wrong. But he ignores the logical thoughts playing through his muddled mind. He can feel heat rushing in his chest and his fingers curl into fists. Because besides the fact that he’s more than slightly drunk, he has an ego and will fight for it. 

_ Tease _ Dan mouths, before sinking his teeth into his full lower lip and gazing up at Phil with wanton, amber eyes. He releases the bitten morsel and smirks inwardly as he notices how Phil’s eyes follow the motion. He can play this game. But Dan never gets to execute his next move because Phil’s sapphire orbs glow with retaliation, and he pushes back down over Dan’s clothed length for a good measure, causing another harsh breath to escape from Dan’s mouth, and Dan feels his eyes squeeze shut.

Phil, to Dan’s relief, doesn't push further, and his hands are playing around his collar again. His touches are feather-light, but every small flutter sears into Dan’s skin. His jacket finally slides the off of his broad shoulders, falling lifeless onto the chair. Dan is grateful for it because he thinks he would've died from heat stroke if it hadn't come off soon. It was hot as a furnace underneath the damned material. At least he can breathe easier now. But only for a few seconds. 

His breath hitches as Phil’s delicate fingers trail up to his chin. He tilts Dan’s chin so that their eyes meet. It’s a gentle touch, but it screams dominance. Phil’s eyes are piercing and electric blue and Dan can feel the electricity as it flows from Phil’s fingertips into Dan’s buzzing skin. Their gazes meet for only seconds, but it feels so much longer than that. Dan blinks, and Phil isn't standing in front of him and holding his intense gaze. No, he’s dancing again, but this time he’s much closer. 

In a flash, he’s down to Dan’s eye-level, and his hips are practically jerking up into Dan’s—fuck, they can't be grinding in broad daylight! Dan can only grip his chair and stare with an unhinged jaw as unstoppable heat rushes hot in his blood, and his mouth is suddenly as dry as sand-paper. He’s panting, and he feels like someone’s screaming in the background, but maybe that's just the voice in his head. He can smell the cool scent of Phil’s aftershave, his intoxicating cologne, and something so distinctly  _ Phil _ that reminds him of home. He clacks his mouth shut and tries swallowing, and then he hears himself speaking. Dan tries not to whine, he really tries. And barely succeeds. His voice is a high-pitched monstrosity, and—to his embarrassment—he thinks it may have even cracked at some point, “How long is this supposed to go on for?” Because he knows a turn isn't supposed to be this long. 

There's a collective chuckle and then a voice, “Truth or dare, Phil?” Someone asks. Dan’s can't identify anyone as his eyes slip closed as he struggles to catch his breath and calm the roaring in his ears. His heart rate slows in his tight chest, and he wonders if it’s possible to get heart problems from loving someone too much. It has to be possible. 

“Dare,” Phil rumbles a little breathlessly, still looking at Dan with that glint in his midnight eyes. Fuck, Phil is only going for dares. He’s royally screwed now. 

Dan now recognizes it’s Caspar’s voice, “I dare you to tie Dan up,” Caspar grins as he holds out his belt proudly, like it’s some kind of medal. 

Dan holds his breath as Phil shifts to do just that. He can do it by moving behind the chair to tie Dan up, but of course he chooses the harder option. And by harder, that means he ties him from the  _ front _ . 

Phil crouches down and takes hold of Dan’s wrists. His grasp is firm, yet gentle, and Dan’s skin is tingling again. When Phil moves to pin his arms behind his back, Dan’s breath catches in his throat because Phil’s face is hovering right above his crotch. Dan finds himself chewing on his lower lips as he feels the kiss of metal on his arm, a touch that’s cold against his heating skin. He can feel puffs of Phil’s hot breath against his lower belly—and dangerously close to something lower—and he’s practically a shuddering mess as his hands form into tight fists, and Phil can probably feel the small gesture against his own pale hands. Why did Phil have to tie him from the front?! Isn't the back easier? 

Luckily, the leather slots into the cool buckle, and Phil isn’t breathing into his crotch anymore, and Dan can finally breathe again. He unwinds his fingers and twists his wrists. He has enough wiggle room. It's tightened to perfection. Shit. 

The bottle is whizzing again, but he doesn't have the patience to watch who it lands on. It’s clear that it can only go downhill now. He closes his eyes and waits for his doom. 

“Truth of dare, Phil?” Of course Phil is asked. 

“Dare.”

“I dare you to… remove Dan’s pants.” 

Dan wants to cry. Instead, his eyes tear open and he exclaims, “This is unfair!” But no one seems to care or hear. Dan could claim he’s being sexually harassed by a crowd of horny youtubers, but the heat bubbling in his belly and his increasing heart-rate suggests otherwise. Is he secretly enjoying this? What’s wrong with him?! 

Before he can further analyze his worrying thoughts, Phil’s hands are tugging on his belt-loops, and Dan almost kicks him backwards in his wayward panic. Is he hard? Slightly. But if Phil starts to take his pants off, he definitely will be. 

“I can take ‘em off myself!” He  gripes , heart pounding as he scrambles to move away from the predatory spark in Phil’s eyes. He can only move the chair a few inches back.  He feels someone unbuckling the belt that's tying his hands and thanks them silently before immediately springing to his feet—so fast that his vision erupts in a blinding flash of white dots and the room starts spinning. He doesn't have time to care. He yanks the confounded material off, struggling as the damned thing manages to get stuck on his heel. Fucking tight pants. He’s jumping on one foot without his trousers—and it must be quite the display because he swears he hears someone mutter, “god _ damn _ .” 

It doesn't matter who says it though because Phil’s eyes say it all. He can feel the sapphire orbs running up and down his long legs and goose flesh erupts in their path, everywhere his gaze touches. Small lightning bolts run down Dan’s spine and he plops back into his chair, face burning dark crimson. Phil looks just about ready to devour him whole.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to wear these boxers?! Their so short and they hug his ass and he feels so exposed, and he's so turned on, and fuck—he’s fucked because he’s getting hard and he can't help it anymore. He’s honestly impressed he managed to keep control this whole time, because he knows he’s lost it now. 

Dan registers that the crowd is cheering now, probably because they’ve managed to get him visibly aroused, and Dan can only bury his face into his hands for the umpteenth time, “Oh god, spin the fucking bottle,” he mumbles as his face colors a bright peony. 

“Phil, truth or dare?” 

“Do you really need to ask?” Dan squeals from behind his hands. 

“Dare.”

“I dare you to blindfold Dan.”

Dan tenses, and his vision is soon covered in black. He can feel Phil’s voice against his face when he speaks and he's thrown off by the closeness, “Can you see anything?” Phil’s voice is low and deliciously deep and Dan is shuddering as he shakes his head. He doesn't trust himself to respond with words because his throat is clogged with his heart, and his voice has an embarrassingly high chance of cracking. He tries to calm his breathing, but once he realizes Phil can touch him at anytime at any moment, and he wouldn't see it coming, his breath shifts and his chest rises up and down irregularly as he sweats bullets. 

His hearing is amplified now, but his ears are ringing, so he misses if the next person asks truth or dare. But he doesn't question if he does; of course it’s a dare. And although it’s hard to hear the next question, he can make out, “...dare you to edge him.” 

Dan’s breath hitches as he hears the light, airy voice: Troye. Fuck. It’s always the seemingly innocent ones that are the most dangerous. 

Dan jolts as he feels a hot breath close to his neck, and he feels Phil’s hand fall onto his knee, gripping it in place. The small touch goes straight to his length. He holds his breath, and he’s suddenly panting like a feral beast in heat. His mouth is dry, and he feels his tongue run along his lower lip habitually, and he can barely hear Phil’s growl, “tease.” 

Dan gasps, stomach erupting in flames, and he squirms in the chair as warm blood courses through him. He swallows a moan when he feels Phil’s body heat radiating near him, and warning bells blare in his brain. 

Then he remembers that they’re competing, and a ridiculous idea pops in his head. He knows how much Phil likes his sounds. He can do this. 

His breath catches when he feels something brush against his length, and Phil is gripping him in his hands. Dan arches back and he feels like he’s been doused in gasoline and Phil has thrown a flaming match into the fuel. A breathy moan inevitably slips out of his mouth, and he can barely hear the hollering of the crowd behind his roaring ears, “ _ Phil _ ,” he groans as Phil starts to move, properly touching him now. His veins electrify as he feels Phil’s ragged breath against his neck. Dan can see white bolts of pleasure flashing inside his blindfold, and his stomach muscles contract. Molten heat builds low in his gut, and he’s moaning unnecessarily loud because he knows it's Phil’s weakness. Strings of obscenities fly out of his mouth like pouring rain in a thunderstorm. 

His fingers clench as the pleasure gets unbearable, and the knot in his stomach is tightening, but before anything can happen, the pressure of Phil’s hand is off and the room is filled with sounds of his panting and an underlying drone of conspiratorial chatter. Dan groans in agony as his length thrums against him, painfully straining against the material of his boxers. 

He’s wants to tell Phil to get on with it, but any coherent thought leaves his mind as he feels Phil’s hot breath along his collarbone, above the bruised skin, and his knuckles whiten in anticipation as he tips his head back and sucks his lower lip into his mouth. Before he can say Phil’s name, Phil’s mouth is working on him, unrelenting and heated, and Dan is a moaning mess, shuddering helplessly beneath him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok u guys kinda deserve a sneak peek cuz ive been bad at life so here  
> \---  
> “But Phil,” Dan says, glaring at Phil’s crotch pointedly, like he expects the material of Phil’s pants to burst into flames, “what about my hammer?”  
> “You can get your hammer in the morning, Dan. You know we can’t do this right now.”  
> There's a pause, and then both of them erupt in laughter. They can barely manage to wheeze out words.  
> “Dan, we need to sleep. It's four am,” Phil sighs, cheeks pink from exertion. Then he groans, “Dan we’re so screwed for tomorrow, think about the horrendous hangover, oh god.”  
> Dan laughs even more, muttering something about the dynamics of alliterations, and Phil has to drag him to his bedroom. He stomps the whole way there, and tucks Dan into bed.  
> Dan falls face first into his checkered duvet, and his laughter still tinkles softly, “Phiw, I fell.”  
> Phil tuts as he yanks Dan back to his feet, “clumsy boy,” he chuckles.  
> “Phil, you saved me,” Dan’s eyes widen comically and he melts into Phil’s arms, “my savior,” he declares as he rests his head on Phil’s chest and slides a finger down his face, gazing up at him behind his lashes, “Ooh, I can hear your heart,” Dan smiles and his eyes close as he hears the steady drumming of Phil’s heart, soothing against his ear.  
> Phil giggles, “Dan-yul,” he clutches his shoulders, “time for bed.”  
> Dan shakes his head against Phil’s warmth stubbornly, “Don’t wanna go to bed.”  
> “Dan, I don't want to man-handle you.”  
> Dan moves back to look at Phil, and Phil’s breath leaves him when he notices they’re blown, desire tinged within them. Phil thinks he resembles a deer caught in headlights.  
> “Oh,” Phil puffs against Dan’s face, “you want that, don't you.”  
> \---  
> BYE  
> p.s. if u wanna find me on tumblr, username is battleshipblues  
> this series of events is coming to a close!


	7. After-party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slightly shorter (4.2k) chapter  
> but enjoy

The door to their apartment crashes open with a loud  _ bang _ ‍, and giggling replaces the barren sound of the flat, filling the quiet air with loud cackling. 

“Phiw,” Dan whines, “I-” he hiccups, before breaking into another round of delirious laughter, “I don't have any pants.” 

“It’s ok Danny,” Phil huffs, grinning from ear to ear, “let’s just go to bed. Pants are overrated, anyway.” 

“You know what,” Dan slurs as he whirls around, stumbling as he jostles into Phil’s shoulder, “you are absolutely right, mate. Pants. Who needs them?” 

There’s a beat of silence, before Phil purrs, “Not you,” eyes shifting up and down Dan’s body. Dan’s heart stutters, and he hooks his hands around Phil’s neck, burying his reddened face into his collar. 

“Philll,” Dan drawls. Phil wraps his arms around Dan’s back and hums in response as they sway gently from side to side. 

He nuzzles into Dan’s cheek affectionately, “Mm you smell good,” he murmurs, eyes falling closed. They’re still rocking together and there’s a pleasant tingle in the air.

Dan hums out a quiet laugh, “Do I?”

Phil nods lazily and squeezes Dan, and Dan’s heart fills. That is, until he feels something hot and wet run along the swell of his collarbone, and his knees buckle as he clutches onto Phil’s firm shoulders, fingers digging into the crumpled material of his collared shirt. 

“You taste good too,” Phil’s voice is deliciously low.

“Phil!” Dan bursts into breathy laughter and bats him away, trying to ignore the butterflies battering away in his stomach and the sizzle of heat erupting between them. 

“Wot? It’s true,” Phil says as he leans back, eyes sparkling like a shimmering river in the city. 

“Tease,” Dan murmurs, exasperated, as he paws Phil’s shoulder, and he can’t help the upwards quirk of his lips, dimples giving his true emotions away. There’s lingering electricity in the air, and the mutual understanding that they want each other, but they can’t do it tonight. Not when they’re so smashed. They’ve been having difficulty though; they could barely keep their hands off each other in the cab, and the taxi driver was pissed at Dan for not wearing trousers. Dan chuckles at the memory, and is brought back to the present with Phil’s voice.

“Dan… why’re you… why’re you so pretty,” Phil says as he reaches out to play with a curl, and Dan’s heart flutters when his eyes meet Phil’s crystal pools.

Dan wrinkles his nose, face coloring as Phil twists the curl around a pale finger, “M’not… pretty, Phil,” he squints at the air before exclaiming, “I-I’m a big—a huge—man. I'm a… a—whatsitcalled—a hunk!” Dan’s eyes light up, “that's it—I'm a hunky man, Philly, you like that?” 

Phil snorts, “yeah…  _ totally _ , Dan. Mr. Hunk.  _ Oh _ -so-scary. Thor would be proud.” 

Dan pouts, linking his fingers together behind Phil’s neck, “I thought you liked Thor.” 

“Dan, I like  _ you _ .” 

Dan’s cheeks redden further and he scuffs his toe into Phil’s ankle, “But Thor’s a hunk, Phil. I'll never be like him,” he rips away from their embrace and flails his arms, gesticulating wildly towards his body, “ _ look _ at this. Look at this mess. I'll never be him! I need a hammer, too. Where would I find that?” Before Phil can formulate any words, Dan drops to his knees in front of him, “Oh, I  _ wonder _ where I can find that.” 

Phil’s hand falls onto Dan’s soft curls, and Dan gazes up at him with doe-eyes, “Dannn, get up,” Phil grumbles. 

“But Phil,” Dan says, glaring at Phil’s crotch pointedly, like he expects the material of Phil’s pants to burst into flames, “what about my hammer?” 

“You can get your hammer in the morning, Dan. You know we can’t do this right now.”

There's a pause, and then both of them erupt in laughter. They can barely manage to wheeze out words. 

“Dan, we need to sleep. It's four am,” Phil sighs, cheeks pink from exertion. Then he groans, “Dan we’re so screwed for tomorrow, think about the horrendous hangover, oh god.” 

Dan laughs even more, muttering something about the dynamics of alliterations, and Phil has to drag him to his bedroom. He stomps the whole way there, and tucks Dan into  bed. 

Dan falls face first into his checkered duvet, and his laughter still tinkles softly, “Phiw, I fell.” 

Phil tuts as he yanks Dan back to his feet, “clumsy boy,” he chuckles.

“Phil, you saved me,” Dan’s eyes widen comically and he melts into Phil’s arms, “my savior,” he declares as he rests his head on Phil’s chest and slides a finger down his face, gazing up at him behind his lashes, “Ooh, I can hear your heart,” Dan smiles and his eyes close as he hears the steady drumming of Phil’s heart, soothing against his ear.

Phil giggles, “Dan-yul,” he clutches his shoulders, “time for bed.” 

Dan shakes his head against Phil’s warmth stubbornly, “Don’t wanna go to bed.” 

“Dan, I don't want to man-handle you.” 

Dan’s breath hitches, and Phil’s own breath leaves him when he notices Dan’s molten eyes are blown, desire tinged within them. Phil thinks he resembles a deer caught in headlights. 

“Oh,” Phil puffs against Dan’s face, “you  _ want  _ that, don't you.” 

Dan bites his lip and silently nods, eyes fogged with lust, breaths coming out noticeably heavier. 

Phil sighs, and Dan blinks as the gust of air causes his curls to flutter. Dan holds his breath in anticipation. His eyes snap back open when he feels Phil’s warmth crash into him, and now he's pinned down on his bed because Phil has unceremoniously grabbed Dan’s wrists and has dived down on the checkered duvet. They fall on it breathlessly. Dan grins deviously, eyes glowing with mirth, and Phil gasps when he feels Dan pressing into him, heat filtering through his bloodstream as he registers the hardness against his hip, “Dan,” he breathes, as he bites down on his lip, “and you call  _ me  _ the tease.” 

Dan smirks coyly and shrugs because it's true, mahogany eyes radiating with mischievousness, “takes one to know one, Philly.” 

Phil shifts to peel away the duvet, but Dan is relentless and grinds up against Phil, who swallows a groan as shockwaves of heat ignite through his body. He feels himself hardening against Dan’s persistent thrusts and he closes his eyes and takes a sharp intake of breath, heart pounding inside his ears. He can feel Dan’s heart beneath him, beating out of his chest. 

Then Phil swiftly shoves Dan underneath the blanket, and covers him with deft fingers, tucking him in neatly. “There,” Phil pants, crossing his arms.

Dan looks as sad as a puppy doused in cold water, and Phil’s heart yearns to fulfill all his desires, but he can't, “Dan, we can't right now. We’re not sober.”

Dan nods and bites his lip again, desire still swimming within the dark pools, along with a hint of regret. 

When he moves to leave, Dan’s hand shoots out and clasps on his wrist and he utters a single word, “ _ Stay. _ ”

How can Phil refuse? He crawls in beside Dan, and manages to leave an appropriate distance between them. A few minutes pass, and Phil tries to eliminate the buzzing in his skin. Dan is facing away from him, but Phil’s eyes widen as he sees Dan shift to look over his shoulder.

“Phil,” Dan whispers, “come closer.” 

Phil chuckles, “Dan if I come closer, we both know we’re not getting any sleep tonight,” Something deep and promising in his voice causes a spark to light up along Dan’s spine.

“I  _ know _ ,” Dan huffs, “god, I want to do this right, but I-I also—Phil. I need  _ you _ , and right the fuck now.” He takes a deep breath before his mouth is running, “All I want is you, and your gorgeous cock inside me, fucking me until I can’t take it any longer,” Dan shudders, fingers shaking, “goddamnit,” he buries his head into his hands.

“Dan, if you want to do this right, you’ve gotta stop saying stuff like that ‘cuz I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself,” Phil mumbles roughly against his own pillow, and Dan can see the blanket shifting around Phil, and he flicks his eyes back up to Phil’s sea-blue eyes, and he notices there's only a small sliver of sapphire blazing back at him, and he can see Phil’s chest rising and falling harshly. When Phil hisses and bites down on his pink, bitten lips, Dan can feel his heart rattling inside the tight coffin of his chest. He whips his head back around, and he tries to ignore the sparks of electricity that flood through his veins as he registers Phil is touching himself, and they’re barely two feet apart. 

Dan sucks in a breath as his heart jack-hammers inside his chest, and his fingers are tingling, “Ok, right. I just—I won’t speak from now on,” he mutters, and he buries his burning face into his cool pillow. 

“Alright,” Phil grunts from somewhere behind him, “G’night, Dan.”

“Mm-Night,” Dan sighs. But he can't sleep with Phil making those quiet huffs and speedy breaths, and Dan is already hard in his pants. His hand dives down into his boxers, tugging harshly at his flushed cock, and a hollow moan escapes his mouth. 

The silence that follows is suffocating. His length is throbbing in his hand as he chews on his lip and blood roars in his ears. 

“Dan,” Phil says tentatively, and a shiver passes through Dan’s spine as he hears Phil’s low voice. The air leaves his lungs when Phil wraps an arm around him and he’s suddenly pulled against Phil’s firm chest. Dan’s breath is stuck in his lungs and his heart splutters as Phil’s thumb smooths over his prominent hip bones, slightly lifting the hem of Dan’s cotton shirt.

Another groan tumbles from his mouth when he feels the warmth of Phil’s length rubbing against the black material of his boxers, and Dan arches back, pressing it between the cleft of his ass, “ _ oh _ , Phil,” he breathes, “please.”

“Fuck,” Phil exhales shakily, and Dan can feel the blasphemy against the skin of his sweaty neck, and his spine erupts in tingles, “turn around,” Phil commands. 

Dan tosses around a bit too eagerly—he almost knocks his head into Phil’s chin—and his hands grip Phil’s pale shoulders. Then Phil is flinging Dan’s shirt off, and the only thing that separates them is the thin fabric of their boxers. Dan gasps as Phil shuffles to move over him, and he feels Phil’s bare skin against his own--when did Phil take his shirt off? 

“Phil,” Dan whimpers, “touch me, please. You’ve been teasing me all night.” 

Phil chuckles into Dan’s neck, “and you haven't?”

“Phil,” Dan whines, drawing out his name, involuntary bucking his hips into Phil’s, prompting a series of curses from both, “fuck. Sorry, I can't help it anymore. Fuck.” Dan pants as he grinds relentlessly against Phil’s hard length. When Phil wraps a hand around it, Dan tips his head back and curses loudly, prompting boiling heat to filter through Phil’s chest. Then Phil is diving down to lick along his neck, trailing burning kisses down to Dan’s heaving chest, and Dan keens, white heat pumping in his blood. Phil licks a nipple as Dan arches back, burying his hands into Phil’s ebony hair and moaning obscenely. Phil’s hand is still twisting over his length, and Dan’s breath hitches as he feels Phil move down, decorating Dan’s gleaming skin in red splotches, and Dan jolts as he feels Phil’s fingertips skim over the top of his boxers. 

“Phil, maybe we should—fuck—stop,” Dan gasps. Phil’s hand stops moving on his pulsing length. 

“Why?” Phil breathes. 

“You know—” Dan’s thrusts into Phil’s unmoving hand, “—Phil get away from me before I change my mind.” 

“But Dan,” Phil persists, “you feel so good,” he pumps his hand, and Dan stifles a sob in his pillow, putting a smirk on Phil’s face, “and it doesn't look like you want to stop,” he says as Dan involuntarily ruts against his hand. 

“Fuck, Phil why are you so difficult?” Dan groans, and he flips away from Phil so he can't touch him anymore.

Goose flesh break out along his damp skin as he feels Phil’s warm breath along his neck, “Dan, I can still do this,” and Dan feels Phil’s warmth behind him, grinding into his ass, and all Dan can do is let his jaw fall open as he grinds unconsciously against Phil’s cock. Phil’s chest is pressed against his back, and Dan mewls when Phil’s hand reaches over to brush along a nipple. Phil trails his hand along Dan’s smooth skin, until he brushes against Dan’s mouth. His soft lips are parted, and Phil can feel a warm puff of air with every thrust.

“Suck,” Phil demands.

Dan shudders in front of him and takes Phil’s long fingers into his heated mouth. He swirls his tongue around the tip, and he can taste a hint of Phil’s hand soap, and something indescribably  _ Phil _ , and Phil is rock hard against Dan’s ass. 

“So good, Dan,” Phil mumbles into the back his neck, and then he moves around to bite down on the damp skin. Dan wails around his fingers, prompting a hoarse groan from Phil as he feels the vibrations of Dan’s mouth around his pale extremities. 

But suddenly, he feels a sharp pain on said extremities and he practically rips his hand out of Dan’s heated mouth, “Ouch! What the—?” He sees teeth marks on his slick fingers, “did you… bite me?” Phil’s tone is full of disbelief, but Dan can’t see the twinkle of amusement that swims in his azure eyes. 

It takes a few moments for Dan to respond because he’s breathing heavily, “I’m sorry Phil. I didn’t know how else to stop myself. I'm sorry.” 

“Dan don't apologize. What's wrong? Was it something I did?” Phil’s voice is still mouth-wateringly smooth and Dan barely has the self-control to restrain himself from rolling against him. 

“No,” Dan chuckles, “far from that.” 

“Then what’s—”

“Phil, we should do this when we’re sober.” 

“Oh. Right,” Phil exhales, “okay,” and he’s still hard and heavy in his pants. His hand brushes against Dan’s length and Dan hisses, “sorry, I just had to check,” Phil grins.

“Twat,” Dan grumbles and swats him away. 

“We’re both aroused, Dan, what do you want me to do?” 

“Just—fuck—first move like ten feet away from me, goddamnit Phil,” Dan buries his face into his pillow as he flops on his back, and Phil can see his chest rising and falling with every hefty breath. Phil grumbles and moves away. Now an appropriate distance separates them, and Dan wants to burn it. But he knows this is right. He wants to do this right. Even if he has to go through hell and back for it. But he’ll be damned if he doesn't take care of their arousals. He has the perfect solution. Dan huffs out a short breath and leans over his bed to find the bottle of lube. His head is swimming and as he scrambles through the drawer, and he feels the duvet slide off of him in his hectic search. 

Phil sucks in a breath as Dan’s ass peaks through, and his hand finds himself and he’s groaning, “Dan, you’re—fuck.”

“Hey!” Dan spins around, “don't have all the fun without me.” 

“Sorry,” Phil grunts. Dan twists back around to continue his search, and the muscles along his wide shoulders ripple in the darkness. Before Phil can process what he’s doing, his hand has found its way to Dan’s ass and he gives it a harsh pinch. 

“Phil!” Dan sounds betrayed, and his voice is high-pitched, but he’s giggling and a light dusting of rose is whipping across his high cheekbones. 

“I couldn't resist, Dan, have you been working out or something? Why’s your ass so firm?”

Dan’s face glows red, “I may have gone to the gym a few times this week,” he says sheepishly. 

“Damn,” Phil mutters, and his hands have found his length again, pumping it in rough strokes. His breath hitches, as he realizes he’s touching himself with the hand he put in Dan’s mouth, and Dan’s saliva is on his cock, and a fractured breath escapes his mouth as he presses his eyes shut, but they immediately blast open as he hears the familiar  _ pop _ of a bottle of lube. 

Dan’s breathing is shaky as he smears it across a trembling hand, and he kicks off his boxers in one swift motion. He wastes no time in finding his entrance, and he prods it  tentatively before sliding a finger in. It initially burns slightly, but his mind is sluggish as he sloppily moves his fingers within him, a mewl sliding out of his breathless mouth. He can barely hear Phil’s panicked voice as blood rushes through his ears, “Dan! What are you  _ doing _ ?” 

Dan chokes on a sob as he throws his head back, “what does it— _ ungh _ —look like I'm doing?” He breathes out obscenities as he slides another finger in, and the angle is awkward but it’ll do. Bursts of euphoric pleasure flood his veins as he continues working his long fingers inside him. His eyebrows furrow as he hears Phil grunt next to him, and electricity explodes inside his nerve endings, toes curling, “ _ fuck _ , Phil, talk to me.” 

“ _ Dan _ ,” Phil gasps, “I would fill you up so much better than those long fingers.”

Dan whines, “ _ please _ ,” his voice is wrecked, and he’s gasping for breath as molten heat streams through him, length thrumming painfully against his stomach. His fingers won't even compare to the feeling of Phil's inside him, and his chest heaves at the thought.

“I would finger you so well, too, and then fuck you. Hard. Against the wall. Oh  _ fuck _ ,” Phil rasps as he twists his flushed cock in his hand, “or maybe you could ride me. Would you like that?” 

Dan nods mutely, and whimpers as another finger pushes in, and he’s chanting Phil’s name hoarsely, “yes, do it, anything. Ruin me, Phil.”

“Dannn, how many fingers?”

“Ungh, fmn—three. Three-oh fuck. Keep g- _ uh _ -going,” Dan stutters as he finds his prostate, nerves obliterating in sparks of flames, “Oh  _ fuck, _ ” He exclaims, and his breath hitches, mouth falling open as he imagines Phil hitting him there with every thrust, and he can barely gasp out Phil’s name as intense euphoria weaves through his skin, and his length his throbbing against his clenching stomach, strings of precome drooling out. 

“Oh my god,” Phil groans, sizzling heat flooding him as he watches Dan. He sees stars blinking in his vision, and he can barely formulate words, “I would find your spot so quickly, uhh—so tight you’re gonna feel so good, I’ll come inside you in hot splashes, and your neck—marked up in pretty bruises, so many, Dan,” his mouth runs, and his hand is moving in a blur over his glistening cock, electric heat waves emanating through his body, “I bet your ass will look so pretty when I spank it, too, oh my—shit sorry.” 

Dan keens, eyes scrunching, and he can see white flicker behind his eyelids, “ _ yes _ ,” he hisses, “please, daddy, I’ve been a naughty boy.” 

“ _ Fuck _ , what did you do, baby?” 

Dan’s words are barely coherent around his ragged breathing, “I-I touched myself when you weren't there… in the shh- _ ah _ -shower,” Dan slurs as he replays the memory, fingers coiling inside him, and he can feel the familiar tugging in his stomach, “I was thinking of… of  _ you _ —mmn.”

Phil’s breath hitches, and the image of Dan, face twisted in ethereal pleasure, hot and wet with rivulets of water running down his flushed skin, has him coming hard in his hand, length spasming inside his warm palm. His bones melt inside the duvet and his toes curl as a guttural moan rips from his gasping mouth. White dots explode in his vision, before fading into different colors, and he feels like he’s floating on a cloud, lingering heat still buzzing in his veins.

Dan is still a whimpering, sweaty mess besides him, brown curls damp against his flushed face. Phil shifts closer and smooths his coated hand around Dan’s flushed head. Dan writhes beneath him, and Phil’s sticky hand is warm against his burning length, “come for me, Dan,” Phil growls, blending their come together with lube, and his warm breath tickles Dan’s ear. Dan turns on his side, and his hands dive over Phil’s back, scrabbling to find purchase, and his nails dig crescent moons into Phil’s pale skin as he bites down on Phil’s porcelain neck, moans muffled into the humid, translucent skin.

“Phi-il,” Dan squeals as his eyes close, breaths stuttering out harshly, and Phil hisses in his ear as Dan’s hands glide down the length of Phil’s back, trailing red streaks in its wake, and he’s coming over Phil’s hand in hot spurts, recoating his palm in hot, sticky streaks of milky white. Waves of golden-white ecstasy passes through him, and he feels a supernova burst within him, and he arches into Phil, pressing his  shining  body tightly against his. The room is simultaneously spinning and cooling and the air is light and bubbly. Phil leans on his elbow above Dan as he catches his breath, and he spreads his hand out in front of him, and observes it unblinkingly as it drips with the remnants of their come. A drop of it falls onto Dan’s open mouth, atop his full lower lip, and Phil can only watch with wide eyes and stolen breath as Dan’s pink tongue darts out to lick it off. Dan hums as he opens his almond eyes to look at Phil under his lashes, the moonlight casting shadows over his high cheekbones. 

“What does it taste like?” The question is out before Phil can stop his traitorous mouth. 

Dan snorts, sarcasm oozing from his voice, “ _ Oh _ , simply magnificent. It's absolutely the most exquisite thing—it's like… the very  _ essence _ of a vanilla-bean milkshake, mm, yum.” He even adds an unnecessary moan afterwards and licks his lips, for dramatic effect.

“Really?!” Phil exclaims earnestly, clear eyes widening.

“No! It tastes like—I don't even know how to describe it, but—definitely  _ not  _ a vanilla bean milkshake,” Dan’s dimple appears as he grins.

“Oh,” Phil giggles, tongue poking out, and he looks back at his hand, still dripping with remains, and curiosity pulls somewhere low in his gut.

“You don't have to, Phil.”

“But I want to,” Phil whispers, heart pounding as he brings his fingers to his mouth, and Dan is watching him with an odd intensity in his eyes as he shifts to sit up on the bed. Phil takes a deep breath, and is about to suck a finger into his mouth, when Dan’s warm hand grips his wrist, halting his movement. 

“Here, let me,” Dan says, and Phil doesn't miss the way his nearly obsidian eyes are glittering. He gasps as Dan’s mouth envelopes his pale extremities, licking the crevices in between, and Phil as to restrain a moan as his goose flesh rises on his pale skin, and his heart rushes in his throat. Dan pulls his mouth away from his hands, and Phil’s breath hitches as he feels Dan’s breath wafting over his face, and suddenly Dan’s mouth is on his, and his lips are somehow firm and soft at the same time, but Phil’s mind is heady with a dense fog as Dan swipes his tongue into Phil’s mouth, and oh—that's why. He can taste his own come on Dan’s tongue and it's so filthy that Dan is moaning into Phil’s mouth, and his fingers have found Phil’s raven hair, tugging the strands brutally, prompting a groan from Phil, and the room is spinning again, flames burning in his stomach.

When Dan pulls back, his lips are flushed red, and his pupils are dilated and their foreheads are pressed flush together. Dan closes his eyes, and Phil can feel his breath swirl against his face when he speaks, “Well?” 

“I-what?” Phil responds, breathless. 

Dan opens his molten eyes, a small ring of ochre surrounding the black orbs, “how did it taste?” 

“Oh,” Phil chuckles, mind still whirling from their kiss. He unconsciously licks his tingling lips, and his breath catches when he notices the way Dan’s eyes follow the movement, “it wasn't terrible,” he shrugs. 

Dan chuckles, and settles back under the blanket and pats the spot next to him, his racing heart slowing in his ribcage, “we should probably sleep now.” 

“Yeah,” Phil agrees, shifting next to Dan, and a strange silence fills the air. Or maybe he just feels the silence because in the next moment Dan is speaking again.

“Phil,” Dan whispers, “come closer.”

Phil smiles, remembering how this whole thing started, and he slides in to move behind Dan. His chest presses against Dan’s back, and his toes tangle in Dan’s ankles, and his knees are pressed into the juncture of Dan’s legs. Phil’s arm wraps around Dan’s waist, and they’re properly cuddling now. 

Dan sighs sleepily, and his voice is soft, “Mm you’re warm.”

Phil quirks an eyebrow, and squeezes Dan, a hazy smile spreading across his face, “Go to sleep, Dan.”

“G’night, Phil.”

“Night,” Phil whispers as he sinks against the bed. He’s never realized how truly tired he has been. They’ve been awake for close to twenty four hours now. With those thoughts in mind, he allows the comforting blackness of the night take over, brain fading into mindless static.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what happens when i try to write fluff im sorry  
> anyway (spoiler?) next chapter will probs be last one  
> good night


	8. A series of Fortunate Events

Dan feels a feather-light touch on the crown of his head, and a light breath ghosts over his face. A cold foot presses into his ankle. He feels a knee sink into his lower thigh. His eyes flutter open before he can stop them, and he’s met with glaring light from the window—who’s window? Is he in Phil’s room?—along with Phil’s teal eyes, which widen as they meet his own. Dan notices the checkered duvet. The familiar hazy black and gray colors spring in his vision. They’re in his room. He’s only wearing boxers. 

“Phil?” Dan blurts, squinting. Phil freezes, hands stilling in Dan’s chestnut locks, and the warm, tingling feeling is sucked out of him. Dan wants to whine, but he resists. It’s not appropriate.

He may not remember  _ everything  _ that happened last night, but he remembers quite a bit of it. And he can guess what happened afterwards; that night was spiraling into the dark abysses of hell, anyway. He thinks he may have exposed himself in more ways than one—he thinks his daddy kink may have slipped out at some point—but he’ll save that embarrassment for later, because right now he’s warm and comfy in his bed, and the toasty blanket envelopes his whole body, which rarely ever happens because of his ridiculous height. And although his head is drumming away, it somehow feels less painful than the last hangover. 

A moment later, he realizes why. 

“Dan,” Phil whispers as his hand slides down to caress Dan’s cheek. Phil’s crystal eyes are shining with sincerity. It's such an earnest intensity that Dan feels his heart flip in his chest. His thumb brushes against his splattering of freckles, reminding Phil of constellations against the night sky, and he memorises their pattern as he feels warmth flood his fingers. 

Phil’s heart swells as he notices the red patch growing beneath his hand, and he steels himself, taking a sharp breath, “Dan,” he repeats. Dan stares at him wordlessly with wide hazel eyes, unmoving, “I’m sorry… for my rather… um,” Phil swallows around the cotton ball hiding in his throat, “I'm sorry for my behavior yesterday,” he reiterates, “that was completely uncalled for… and I’m sorry I put you in that position. Honestly, I don't know what I was thinking.” He sighs, and Dan can feel the puff against his face before Phil smiles  sheepishly  and shrugs, “I guess I wasn't.” 

“Wasn't what?” Dan’s mumbles sleepily, eyes glazed.

“Wasn't  _ thinking _ , you—did you hear a word I said?” Phil’s tone is exasperated, but there’s mirth shimmering in his eyes.

His question seems to snap Dan out of it, however, and Dan blooms scarlet as he realizes how starstruck he must’ve just looked. Maybe all those tumblr posts about his so-called  _ heart eyes howell _ isn’t so false after all, “Of course I was listening, you twat,” Dan says as he faux-punches Phil’s shoulder, “You shouldn't be apologizing anyway, I was making it hard for you.” Phil snorts, prompting Dan to hit him again, “you know what I mean, perv.”

Phil responds, “Yeah, in my defense, you weren't really… we were both at fault, I mean.” Dan hums in agreement. There's a small pause as both of them bask in the sun. 

“Hey, Phil?” 

“Mm.” 

“Did I… did I… goddamnit,” he grumbles. 

“Hmm?”

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, “did I… call you…”

“What is it, Dan?” 

Dan sighs, cheeks already burning, “Did I say… daddy… in front of all those people?” 

There's a pause, and Phil bursts in a string of giggles, “Yeah, you did actually.” 

Dan’s heart drops as he groans into his hands, “Oh my  _ god _ .” 

“It's fine they were all pretty wasted. I doubt they remembered anything.”

“Do  _ you _ remember?”

Phil’s eyes are crystal-lake blue, “No, not really,” he finally responds, “I was pretty smashed myself. But I think I burned that particular memory in my mind—you calling me  _ that _ in front of a whole crowd of people?”

Dan turns crimson as he buries his face into his hands again, “ _ Phil _ .”

He was planning on retaliating more, but the rest of his sentence is sucked out of his soul. His breath hitches as Phil’s thumb brushes tenderly against his lower lip, and suddenly he can’t breathe anymore. His spine fizzles from bottom to top, and his heart soars as Phil slides his soft finger against his mouth again. Dan has to restrain himself from darting his tongue out and sucking the curious appendage into his mouth. It’s the most painful thing he’s ever experienced.

Phil gazes intently at Dan’s lips, his eyebrows furrowing, “Dan… I—”

They’re already a tangle of limbs underneath the duvet, but Dan shifts even closer, tossing to interlock his leg over Phil’s and his hand naturally falls over Phil’s chest. He can feel Phil’s heart pounding underneath his tingling fingers, and he buzzes all over. It’s exhilarating.

Phil sucks in a breath as he closes his eyes, and Dan notices the finger on his lip is trembling as it smooths over the soft skin of Dan’s lower lip, “Dan,” Phil frowns, swallowing. They’re practically breathing in each other's air and he can’t hear Phil.

“Phil,” Dan mutters against Phil’s hand, “just do it,” he almost shivers as he rubs a comforting hand over Phil’s shoulders.

“I—” Phil’s eyes snap open and they always manage to take Dan’s breath away. They’re slightly watery, which just accentuates the turquoise and aqua colors, and the gold swims around his irises like smooth silk. “W-what did you say?” Phil asks breathlessly; he thinks he may have hallucinated for a second. Did Dan just say that, or was it wishful thinking?

“Just. Goddamnit. Phil. Fucking kiss me.”

Phil’s eyes widen in alarm, and there’s a loaded pause. For a heart-stopping moment, Dan thinks he’s read everything wrong, that Phil has been talking about a different person since the beginning, that he’s just a friend to him, that Phil is just one of those touchy-feely people, and the world around him slowly melts and crumbles to the ground and he’s falling, and falling, and falling into a deep, dark hole, like the way Alice falls into the rabbit hole, and insects crawl inside his skin, his stomach drops, and he wants to rip himself away from their small bubble and pop the damned thing with a giant needle, because he’s his friend, he’s only Phil’s friend, and Phil doesn’t like him like that. 

_ He doesn’t like you like that _ , the small voice in his mind echoes, and Dan wants to murder his own brain. He wants to jump out of the window. He wants to cry in frustration. He wants to laugh in embarrassment. He wants to melt into his warm duvet, which suddenly doesn’t feel so warm anymore. He wants to disintegrate into thin air, he wants Thanos to come and end him. He wants to—

Phil is kissing him. It’s soft and intimate, and Dan inhales sharply as Phil crushes his mouth against his own. Phil’s hand tangles messily into Dan’s curls as Dan clutches onto his shoulders, like he’s holding them for dear life. Dan’s stomach erupts in butterflies as Phil pours out all of his pent up emotions through the kiss, and somewhere inside Dan, a dam breaks free. His heart thrums inside his chest, as he scrabbles to wrap his arms around Phil’s neck, and he’s tingling all over. Finally Phil Lester, the adorable ray of sunshine, is purposefully kissing him. He’s never felt so many emotions at once. And suddenly, he’s jolted by the wet sensation on his cheeks, warm tears  running  down them involuntarily, and Phil’s soothing hands are already smoothing away the thin tracks, brushing softly against his flushed cheekbones, and Dan’s stomach simmers as he hears Phil’s voice because it’s the perfect, low voice that flows like a warm summer breeze, “Hey. Dan, hey, what’s wrong?” Phil coos as he wipes away the damned continuous stream of salty tears.

“I—” Dan hiccups, oh god. He’s full-on sobbing now, bloody hell. He struggles to formulate the right words.

“Dan. Was it something I did?” Phil’s voice falters and turns serious as worry unnecessarily crosses over his striking features.

Dan laughs wetly, “Phil. Phil, no, you idiot. No,” he rubs a single eye and sighs heavily.

“Then what is it?” Phil questions tentatively. When Dan doesn’t respond, he moves to kiss away the tears on his cheeks, and he can taste the salty twinge on Dan’s freckled cheeks. 

“Forget it, it’s … sappy,” Dan mutters, blushing.

“Maybe…” Phil hesitates, “maybe I like sap—Dan, just tell me,” he deadpans as he pokes Dan’s dimple.

“Fine,” Dan huffs as he bats Phil’s hand away, “I’m just—really lucky… Every since I’ve met you, I’ve been so much happier. I’ve been healthier—both mentally and physically and I don’t think I could’ve done it without you,” Dan says, gazing fondly into Phil’s cerulean eyes. And if that doesn’t scream  _ I love you _ , then Dan doesn’t know what does, “I’m living my best life, Phil, and I just… I lo—” 

“I love you,” Phil says fervently, and his eyes are glowing blue. 

Dan feels himself smile uncontrollably, and his own eyes crinkle as they light up like those of a child on Christmas morning, dimples are on display, “Phil!” He squeals as he buries his face into Phil’s neck, clutching the collar of Phil’s t-shirt and his face heats, “Finally,” he says as he peppers kisses against his pale collarbones, and up along the slope of his neck. 

Phil laughs, and it's the most beautiful sound Dan has ever heard, and Dan thinks his heart is going to explode as Phil’s tongue pokes out endearingly.

“What d’you mean ‘finally’?” Phil giggles. 

Dan stops his endless stream of kisses. He bites his lip, eyes darting to the side. Should he tell Phil? “If… it makes you feel any better, I kind of… already knew.” 

“What?! How?” Phil wonders if he's been that obvious. 

Dan sheepishly admits, “I was listening—I mean eavesdropping, basically—to you and Peej. I'm sorry Phil.”

“Wait… you’ve known since  _ then _ ?!” 

“Yeah…”

“Wow… so then… why didn't you say anything? I could've been enjoying this—” he runs his hands over Dan’s torso,  and Dan has to restrain a shiver, “—so much sooner.”

Dan isn't able to meet Phil’s eyes, “I'm stupid, Phil. I… I guess I didn't have the confidence.” He dips his face into Phil’s shoulder. “God, I’m such a fucking idiot.” 

Phil smooths a hand along Dan’s spine, “No, you’re not Dan.” His face morphs into a smirk, “But that  _ does _ explain why you’ve been such a cheeky bastard these few weeks.” 

Dan giggles, and Phil can feel the airy breath on his collarbone, “You have no idea, Phil. The baking video?”

“You tease.”

“The fucking massage?” 

“Oh my god, I knew it!” 

Dan's face falls, “Oh yeah, and that blow job…” 

Phil chuckles, “It was a pretty damn good one Dan, not gonna lie.”

“But still—I still… essentially violated you.” 

“But you knew that I loved you, so not really. Plus I would've completely consented.”

“But—” 

“Shh—” Phil presses a long finger to Dan’s pink lips. Dan looks at him under his lashes, “don't worry about it. If I didn't want you to do it, I would've stopped you.” 

It takes Dan a minute to process Phil’s statement, because his lips are tingling beneath his pale finger. But then he’s struck with a realization, “So… you  _ were _ awake! I knew it, you sneaky shit.” Dan’s lips move along his finger with every word, and Phil’s breath hitches. 

Then they’re kissing again, but this time it’s heavier and heated, and Phil is doing something with his tongue that causes sparks of pleasure to shoot through his whole body. Dan grows pliant and shudders beneath him, and Phil fucking  _ knows _ what he’s doing because Dan can feel his cheeky smirk against his damp skin as he trails kisses along his long neck, and Dan wants to make some snarky comment, but it gets lost in his throat as Phil suddenly starts sucking on the juncture of his neck and shoulder—hard enough to leave a mark. Dan’s mind turns to mush as his fingers involuntarily fly to Phil’s hair, and he tugs harshly, prompting a groan to escape Phil’s mouth, and Dan moans in return as he feels the vibrations along his sensitive collarbone. He’s chanting blasphemies, along with Phil’s name and his words are barely coherent, if at all. 

He slides his hands under Phil’s shirt, reaching up his back, as Phil starts to kiss him again, and his body melts beneath Phil; it’s complete bliss. He’s floating on a cloud. Phil’s pale skin is smooth and ripples underneath his fingertips as Dan makes his way upwards. Dan whines as Phil moves away from him, and his lips are tingling. Phil pulls back to yank his shirt off, and Dan reaches out to smooth over the sparse chest hair, and over a nipple, and his blood warms as Phil hisses through his teeth, and Dan watches with fascination as it hardens underneath his tingling fingers. 

“Dan,” Phil’s eyes are dark, and the sound of heavy breathing fills the room, “do you think we should—I don't know—slow down?”

“What d’you mean?” Dan slurs. The room is still spinning and his mind is foggy. 

“Shouldn't we wait for the speeding up… it's our first time together, so I just thought—I mean, don't get me wrong! I like the idea of—really, anything,” Phil swallows. 

Dan squints, “Phil. I-I don't wanna fucking wait. I need you rough and hard and right the fuck now,” he breathes. 

Phil’s breath hitches as Dan shifts even closer, and he releases a soft moan as Dan’s length brushes against his. Dan’s eyes are like molten chocolate lava, burning into his own blown ones. Phil stops breathing as Dan reaches between them to clutch his length. He starts to work over him in fast, hard strokes, but Phil’s hand clasps onto his thrumming wrist, “Dan, actually… I’ve been wanting to try something,” Phil flicks his eyes back to Dan’s brown ones, sparkling in the morning light. 

“Please,” Dan breathes. 

Then Phil slides over him. Dan feels his hot breath wash over his collarbone, down to his nipple—when Phil playfully kisses it, Dan arches back—ghosting over his navel, down to his hip-bones. By the time Phil is staring intently at Dan’s crotch, Dan is breathing gusts of air, body buzzing with anticipation. 

A slim finger slips beneath the waistline of his boxers, “Can I take these off?” Dan can barely speak coherently, so he nods vehemently instead, breath hitching as his length springs out enthusiastically. “You’re so beautiful, Dan,” Phil murmurs softly. Dan stops breathing as he feels the soft-spoken words against his burning heat. When he feels the first lick, his bones turn to golden honey, and molten heat courses through his body like molasses. Sweat breaks out along his skin as he mewls, hips uncontrollably arching off the bed. Phil grips them with his hand, keeping him in place, and it sends a jolt of lightning through his melted spine. 

“ _ Phil _ ,” Dan chokes. His hand falls on Phil’s inky hair, slightly squeezing the silky strands in his long fingers. 

A guttural sound slips out of Phil's mouth, and Dan can feel the sound reverberate through his whole shuddering body, and it's so orgasmic that he's arching off of the bed again, a hand twisting over the crumpled bed-sheets, white heat flickering beneath his closed eyes. He’s heaving gasps of air like a drowning man trying to survive, and his toes curl, and he has to move his hand so that it wraps around the base of his throbbing length to stop himself from coming, which causes his body to scream in euphoric pain, and he can only eloquently moan blasphemies, dripping out of his open mouth like precome drizzles out of his thrumming length, only to be licked up by Phil's sinful tongue. 

"Quit teasing, Phi-il," he cries.

Phil pops off, the sound ringing in Dan’s ears. His length pulses in the cold air. A moment later, Dan hears the rustling off plastic and a the familiar snap of lube. Blood roars inside his veins, and he wonders if it's physically possible for a human to combust into flames. 

But the thought is ripped out of his fogged mind once he feels a finger prod his hole, and his hips jerk. He hears Phil somewhere in the background, an amused drawl, “Eager.”

Dan whines frustratedly, “Phil  _ please _ please please just fuck me.” He chants as the red flush on his face sinks down to his neck and upper chest. 

“You want me to fuck you, right now?” His pale appendages stop prodding. 

Dan’s breath hitches, “Phil, I-I’ve already fingered myself last night, I’m good.” 

“I don't think that's how it works, Dan.” Phil’s eyes are so blue, like ice frozen on a forest lake. 

“ _ Phillll _ just fucking do it. I know what I want for fucks’ sake.”

Phil grunts, “Needy shit. You want it rough?”

“Yes please.” Dan doesn't know when his hands have found his own length, but he pumps it twice as Phil coats himself in lube. “Oh my god, you’re huge,” Dan gushes. Phil bats his preening hands away with a huff of laughter. 

“Dan, I'm going to fuck you now okay?” 

“Finally.”

Phil snorts, “Turn around.” 

Dan’s vision swims as he flips to his stomach, unashamedly thrusting his ass into the air. His hands reach out to grasp the bed posts, curling around the thin wooden rods. He momentarily panics when he realizes the brittle things could snap into half, and his heart pounds in his rib-cage. 

Phil’s hands cease his thinking. They smooth over the round bubble of his ass, and Dan involuntarily shoves back into his touch. “I know you want me to get right to it, Dan, but I need to do this.” Phil says as he presses a sweet kiss against Dan’s right cheek. Dan’s breath hitches. Phil’s fingers press into him then, slow and steady, as he presses more kisses against the dimples of Dan’s lower back. Dan’s a wrecked mess by the end of it, his cock thrumming painfully against his stomach and the sheets, which are ruined by strings of precome. His helpless moans are muffled into his bedsheets. He rocks his hips forward, trying to get any semblance of friction, but the soft bedding isn't enough.

Then he feels a different pressure. A warm pressure. A pressure much larger than Phil’s talented fingers. It slides into him with slight resistance, and it burns but Dan loves it all the more. He feels so full and he barely hears Phil’s voice behind him behind his ringing ears, “Are you okay?” 

“Yes, Phil-fuck.” 

His blood roars as Phil starts moving, tentatively at first. Dan groans into his sheets, and the muscles on his back ripple as Phil grabs his hips and fully rams into him. He arches back, breath stolen, “ _ Oh! _ Ff-Phil. Again.” 

Dan’s thighs burn as he hears Phil’s labored breaths behind him. Then Phil does it again, and Dan is a burbling incoherently, chanting strings of profanities with every thrust, along with the occasional  _ harder! Phil I'm not going to break. Phil I'm not having this conversation again. Phil if you don't speed up, I swear to g-ahh—fuck! That's more li-nngg-like it. There, do that again. Oh, Phil.  _ The room fills with the smell of sweat and steady  _ smack-smack-smack _ sounds, and the bed creaks with every harsh thrust. Dan’s cries ring loudly in the quiet, pale morning. 

They come together, sticky bodies melding together under crisp sheets. Then they’re kissing, slow and heady and sloppy. Dan’s body is tingling pleasantly underneath Phil’s warm weight. He moans softly into Phil’s mouth as the wet sounds of their tongues moving in a furious tandem break into the air. They break away with heaving chests and lidded eyes.

“Remind me why we waited so long to do that?” Dan says with glazed eyes as a hazy grin wafts over his face. 

“‘Cuz you’re a proper idiot,” Phil sighs lazily as he flicks Dan’s nose. 

“Hey—but I'm also  _ your _ idio—” 

“Don't say it, Dan. Just don't.” 

“Fine. Too cheesy for you?” He winks and it has a smile twitching on Phil’s lips. “How did we finally end up here, anyway?” 

“That stupid truth or dare just ruined us, Dan. Do you not remember?” 

“Oh yeah, that ‘series of possibly fortunate events’.” 

Phil puffs out a breath of laughter, “Been watching Netflix without me?”

“...Maybe.” 

“Well, that's an unfit name for it, anyway.” 

“For the show?” 

“No I mean… for us. In our case, it should be a ‘series of  _ fortunate _ events’.” 

“Phil. And you say  _ I'm  _ cheesy.” 

“But it's true! If it didn't happen we would still be dodging around each other in agony.” 

“Well good to know I wasn't the only one in pain.” 

“Shut up, you already knew that, you eavesdropper. It wasn't one-sided pain for you. It was one-sided pain for me,” Phil huffs. But Dan doesn't miss the playful glimmer in his crystal eyes.

They share a laugh as they meet each other's eyes. After a thoughtful pause, Dan says, “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Without that, this would never have happened. A Series of fortunate events it is.” 

Phil hums in agreement, and both of them fall into a peaceful slumber, cocooned in each other’s warmth. 

“Phil?”

“Mm.”

“I haven't said it yet. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Phil presses a kiss against his head and squeezes him tight. 

 

_ ~fín~ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it to the end, thank you so much for reading!!  
> I've learned from my mistakes, so for my next au (im so excited to post it ahhh), I'm going to wait until i've fully completed it and then ill post it  
> you can find me on tumblr @battleshipblues  
> good bye for now! <3


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